Birthday Flowers
by Caroline4329
Summary: (Now complete!) Elle Evans and Noah Flynn, a little bit older but not so much wiser - yet. After two years apart, will an unexpected weekend reunite them or make everything more complicated? Alternating Elle and Noah POV. (Movie universe)
1. Prologue - A Ghost Appears

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the results of finally watching "The Kissing Booth," six months after everyone else, and losing my everloving mind. I went looking for fanfic and couldn't find quite what I was looking for - a slightly older Elle and Noah, still trying to figure it out - and so I just started writing it myself.

I've adopted the timeline provided in the movie's initial montage, which puts Joni Evans's death in 2013 and the start of Elle's junior year in 2014 - this story opens in fall 2020. Wherever the movie and book diverge on plot or characterization, this story is pretty squarely in the movie's universe.

* * *

October 24th. Mom's birthday - she would have been 52 this year. I ask the florist for irises, marigolds, peach roses, crimson tulips. It's a crazy combination and the florist asks if I'm sure. I am - Mom loved color. I want a riot of color. I ask for the glittery ribbon and the florist side eyes me again. Go ahead, dude. Say something. I am itching for a fight, hoping he'll tell me how tacky my bouquet is so I can play the Dead Mom card. But I guess he's read the thing about the customer always being right, because he hands me my bouquet with a smile.

The sun is out in all its Southern California glory as I drive to the cemetery, and I realize that at some point this drive became comforting rather than painful. I park and walk the familiar path to Mom's grave. It's just me, this year. Brad has an away game and Dad went with him.

When I find Mom, a gorgeous bouquet of gerbera daisies in every color already leans against her headstone. I'm not surprised - Mrs. Flynn often visits on Mom's birthday too - but this is beyond June's usual elegant lilies or roses. A card is tucked into the flowers and its achingly familiar handwriting makes my heart race. I whirl around and startle like I've seen a ghost, but it's a living, breathing Noah I've spotted. He's about thirty yards away, on a bench in the memorial garden. His head is down, buried in a book, but I'd know that profile anywhere. But maybe "ghost" had been the accurate term for what I'd seen. You see, it's… been a while. Two years since my dad almost died, I dropped out, Noah proposed, I freaked out, and everything went wrong.

Maybe there's backstory needed here. Just a little.


	2. Before It All Went Wrong

Noah and I made it all the way to May of my senior year doing the long distance thing. It helps that his parents are rich and his mom loves me, so plane tickets weren't an issue. June Flynn has been not so secretly lobbying practically my whole life to make me a daughter in law. She realized quickly that Lee and I would never head down the aisle together - I mean, except as each other's Best People, because you know Lee would rock a frilly bridesmaid's dress - but once Noah and I went public, June got stars in her eyes again.

Being long distance wasn't easy, and the little things built up. I got sick of the edge in Noah's voice any time I mentioned hanging out with any male other than Lee, especially given that Noah seemed to be on a first name basis with every Harvard woman. Not that I actually thought he'd cheat - but why couldn't he trust me the same way? We had a hundred fights about his caveman mode. You'd think, then, that Noah would have been thrilled to have me go to college in Boston, right? I didn't make it in to Harvard - some of us aren't legacies with generous donor grandparents, ahem, _Noah_ \- but I did get a nice scholarship from BU. And when Lee, bless his dorky heart, got into MIT, it was like all the pieces had fallen into place. All three of us together again - perfect, right? Until Noah came home for the summer just in time for me to get an unexpected call from Stanford.

Of course I applied to Stanford. Every smart kid in California applies to Stanford. I hadn't expected to get in, and by the time they took me off the waitlist my heart was set firmly on heading east. But Noah went ballistic at the idea that I'd pass up Stanford for him. I went ballistic at Noah thinking this was all about him. I mean, of course Noah was part of Boston's appeal. But so was Lee. So was the chance to go somewhere completely new.

And then there was the money. You've seen the Flynn house, right? The Flynns are loaded. Lee likes to claim his grandfather invented the disco ball, but it was actually some very boring, very essential semiconductor thing. So Lee and Noah never had to think about how much college would cost. Not so for me. Stanford was expensive. BU was offering me a full ride. I could take out loans and spend the last of mom's life insurance payout, or I could graduate debt free. The fact that Lee and Noah would be nearby was icing on the cake. But Noah thought it was all about him, and we fought bitterly. And that's how Noah and I made it through almost a year of long distance, and broke up just when we were about to be short distance again.

I spent the summer going on dates with every guy Noah ever tried to scare away from me. Noah spent the summer glowering at me from across the room at parties. He made out with just enough girls to refresh his player reputation. We took turns finding excuses not to attend Sunday lunches.

It was Lee who got us back together. Apparently the only thing worse than your brother dating your bff is your brother and your bff making each other miserable not dating. Lee told me we were having one last bestie weekend at the beach house before college. Lee told Noah they needed a weekend of brotherly bonding. When I arrived at the beach house, Lee grabbed my car keys and drove away in Noah's car, leaving us stranded. A screwball plan, but we didn't actually need much encouragement. It was a memorable, mostly naked, weekend. I'm not sure we ever discussed the breakup and how we got so angry so fast - it all melted away once we were together.

The next two years were magical. I loved BU and discovered a passion for chemistry. (Not the kind of passion for chemistry Noah and I once engaged in. The kind where you ace your classes and get an amazing lab internship. Which isn't to say that Noah and I didn't sneak into empty classrooms on occasion, but we were _much_ more careful about security cameras now.) I played club soccer, worked at the library, and even made some female friends. Lee thrived at his nerd wonderland, and he and I found every DDR machine between BU and MIT. Noah kept doing his sneaky-smart scholar-athlete thing, now with considerably less fighting. And Noah and I, well - we were great. Better than great. We didn't spend every night together, far from it. We were both busy with classes, and with making the most of our college experience. And have you actually tried sharing a dorm-sized bed with someone as tall as Noah? It's less a snuggling experience and more a balancing act. But on Friday afternoons when I left my last class, I could count on Noah grinning at me from the bench outside, ready to take us on the latest adventure he'd plotted. The three of us even continued the Evans-Flynn Sunday lunch tradition, expanded to include our college friends. Noah and I competed to set Lee up for a while, but after a series of disastrous blind dates Lee told us to quit it. Then he went and found himself Kristina, an astrophysicist who won my approval by demolishing both of us at DDR. So, as Lee and I got ready to start our junior years and Noah his senior year, everything seemed perfect. And then Brad called to tell me dad was in the hospital.


	3. A Disaster Averted

Dad was always an invincible figure in my head, and after Mom died he went to every length to make sure Brad and I felt safe. He fought with insurance companies to make sure we got Mom's life insurance and weren't wiped out by hospital bills, and he never let on how close we came to losing the house. He was at all my soccer matches, led Brad's Scout pack, and then stayed up late working to keep on top of our bills. He made a big deal about quitting smoking and getting fit and never skipping his physicals, to reassure us he was doing everything to protect his health. But none of that helps when a texting driver t-bones your car.

Noah was at my place when Brad called. Accident - totaled - helivac - ICU - none of Brad's words made sense. It was Noah who took my phone and coaxed what details he could from a panicked Brad, Noah who booked me the next flight to LA and packed my bag, Noah who called Lee to fill him in and sent the Flynns to sit with Brad, Noah who shepherded me to the airport. I just followed in a daze. Brad had been sending updates. I wasn't even sure what they meant. It sounded like Dad was headed into surgery. Noah walked me to the gate when my flight was called, then kept on walking into the jetbridge. I pulled his arm back, confused.

"Noah - they won't let you walk me onto the plane. I'll be fine."

"Pretty sure they'll let me onto the plane."

"Noah, I'm not helpless. I can manage. You've already done so much." I took my bag from him and started down the jetbridge. He kept following. "Seriously, deactivate white knight mode. I'll manage. I'll call you when I land." We were nearly at the plane by now.

"Sure. But I've got a flight to LA to catch and you're in my way." Noah flashed a boarding pass at me.

"You cannot! You- have classes! And practice! And, and, you don't even have a bag!" Noah ignored me and plucked my boarding pass from me, handing it to the flight attendant along with his. She led us to first class. "Noah! I can't afford this!"

"I can. And these were the last two seats. Sit."

I had no choice. I could recognize a Noah on a mission. "But - your classes. And your stuff." I was still stuck on that.

"Shell, who packed your bag? Have you even looked inside? I threw in clothes from the stuff I keep at your place. Next week is just shopping period - I already emailed the registrar to let them know I had a family emergency. I'll be fine. And I emailed my coach. Relax, please."

"Oh god, the registrar. I should do that."

"It's done. And your boss too."

"WHAT?"

"Shelly, just- please. Just let me help."

I was so out of it. There was no point fighting Noah for being, well, Noah. And I couldn't say this instance of meddling was unwelcome. I gave up and let Noah tuck me against his chest and cover me with his jacket, and I fell asleep while he drew light circles on my back.

That's how the next few days went. Brad and I held each other by Dad's bed and Noah took care of all the things I didn't even realize needed doing, making calls and organizing, feeding us, reminding us to bathe and change and get some sunlight. Dad's injuries were significant but survivable, the doctors said. Whether he'd walk again was uncertain, but at least his brain had never been deprived of oxygen. By the fourth day Dad was mostly coherent, if a little punchy on pain meds, and his medical team starting talking about the long term plan.

"As I was telling your son in law," the attending said, "if your blood pressure stays steady and your surgical sites keep healing cleanly, in a few days you can move out of the ICU, and then in a week or two to a physical rehabilitation ward." Dad's eyebrows shot up at "son in law," and as soon as the doctors left the room Dad leveled a death stare at me and Noah.

" _Son in law_? Anything I need to know?" he demanded.

"Don't give me that look! No one informed me either!" I defended myself. Dad and I turned our glares to Noah, who sheepishly rubbed at his neck.

"That first day, the doctors told me they could only give updates to the patient's family, and you and Brad weren't in any state to listen, so... I may have, ah, overstated my position in this family." Noah admitted. "And- maybe also to the nurses, so they'd let me stay after visiting hours. And I may have, ah, made a few calls to insurance companies on behalf of my beloved father in law."

"Well, thank you for everything you've been doing here. But next time you marry her, I want to know ahead of time." It was hard to gauge Dad's seriousness through the pain meds.

I blushed crimson, but Noah just smirked.

Dad made me go home that night to sleep in a real bed, although "home" turned out to be the Flynn house, where Brad was already staying. I'd been running on adrenaline for four days, and Noah looked equally exhausted. We didn't bother with dinner, just crawled into Noah's bed and fell asleep. June didn't even pretend to expect we'd sleep apart.

I woke with a start at 4 a.m., the result of nightmares and a circadian rhythm thrown off by patchy hospital sleep and the time zone shift. I slowly took inventory of my surroundings to calm my racing heart. Noah's arm was slung across me, tucking me against him as he curled his longer body protectively around mine. I stretched my legs and found I was not perched on the edge of a narrow dorm bed as usual; instead, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I recognized the room. I was in California. With Noah. At his house. The events of the last few days slid back into place and I felt tears fill my eyes. It wasn't a desperate cry as in the panic of the first days, but an expression of relief and dread for the long road ahead. Noah's arm tightened against me as he woke.

"Go back to sleep, Shell," he whispered into my hair. "He's going to be okay."

"Promise?" It was an unfair request.

"No. But I promise I'll be here."

I could feel the steady thump of Noah's heartbeat against my back. I let myself focus on that, on the soft sounds of his breathing, on the faint citrus and cedar smell of his soap. I thought back to the first morning I woke in this bed, and to how far we'd come since then. Noah's fingers were tracing lazy, soothing circles over my stomach. A need for a different kind of comfort came over me. I twisted to face him, my lips seeking out that spot where his neck curved into his shoulder. I kissed my way up to his cheek, my fingers sliding into his hair. The quickening of Noah's breath betrayed his reaction and his hands tensed at my sides, gripping me lightly.

"Shell, are you sure?"

Of this, yes, I was sure. My lips accelerated their path, meeting his as I pulled him closer, my fingers twisting in his hair with growing insistence. My answer clear to him, Noah rolled us over and I let the familiar press of his hips anchor me to this instant, this needed respite. If I had known it would be our last time, would I have burned brighter, faster, more frantically to sear the moment into memory? But we had no idea.


	4. A Disaster Unexpected

A week after the accident, Dad graduated from the ICU to a regular ward. The thrill of having averted the worst gave way to the realization of just how long the road ahead would stretch. There would be months of inpatient rehabilitation, and the uncertainty of which injuries would turn out to be permanent. I was needed at home - college would have to wait. I cried through most of a call with my dean, who helped me start the withdrawal process and assured me my scholarship would be waiting when I felt ready to return. As I finished the call, I was relieved to find Noah booking plane tickets - he'd already missed so much class to be with me.

"Lee offered to pack my room up." I sprawled next to Noah on the couch, emotionally and physically drained by this endless week.

"Great - I can swing by and ship it with my stuff."

"Your stuff?"

"My stuff." Noah repeated slowly. "My clothes. My books."

"Why - why are you shipping those?"

"To move back here."

"WHAT?" I sat straight up and stared at Noah in confusion. "No. You're not staying here. You're going back. To Harvard. Which is not here."

"Elle, I'm staying here with you." He said this like the most obvious thing in the world. Like we had at any point discussed the possibility.

"Are you out of your mind? You have a year to go. Fellowships to apply to. Jobs to interview for."

"And all of that can wait. When you go back, I'll go back."

"No. No. No no no no no. You've done enough. You've been amazing, and I can never thank you enough, but you are not putting your life on hold for me." I could see White Knight Noah pulling on his armor and saddling his steed, and I was not having it.

"I want to. I said I'd be here. With you. As long as it takes."

"Noah, I'm going to be shuttling Dad to doctor's appointments and making sure Brad does his homework. That doesn't take two people. I can handle it. I don't need you to drop out too."

"Jesus, Shelly, has it occurred to you that maybe I just want to be here with you? I'm not putting my life on hold. This IS my life. Right now you need to be here. So I'll be here too."

I've played this conversation back a thousand times, searching for the tipping point. It's coming now. You'll remember that Noah and I once broke up because he made my decision not to go to Stanford all about him. Noble, noble, Noah, always ready to sacrifice himself for what he decided was best for me. His white knight complex didn't magically disappear when we got back together, nor did my frustration with it. We just hadn't had to confront them at this scale in two years. In the span of a week my life had turned upside down and now here was Noah throwing Harvard away.

"The son in law thing was funny at the hospital, but you know we're not actually married, right?" I finally exploded.

I saw Noah's eyes go wide with anger. He jerked up from the couch and went to the window, turning his back to me.

"You say that like it's unthinkable," he finally bit out.

"Because it is! Because I'm twenty! Are you seriously telling me you think it's - thinkable?"

"Not today, no! But forgive me if I thought it might be the best case scenario - someday. It's - the end zone. I know we might not make it there, but I'm still going to throw the ball in that direction."

I think that's a football metaphor. I am trying to figure out how to keep my family functioning and Noah is using a mothereffing football metaphor to justify throwing his life away to ride to my rescue. I walk over to Noah, who is still glaring resolutely out the window, and I wrap my arms around his waist.

"I'm tired, Noah, and I don't know what we're even fighting about now. I love you. I need to be here with my family. You need to go back to Harvard. The end zone is far away. You cannot rearrange your life based on a hypothetical end zone."

"Marry me."

The stubborn jackass went there. I tell Noah he's insane for behaving like we're married, Noah proposes. I don't know if he realizes he just spite-proposed in order to win an argument or if he thinks he's being sincere. Either way I cannot handle it.

"Noah, I am going to bed. We are both exhausted. We're going to pretend this conversation never happened, and in the morning we're going to talk like rational people about why I need to stay here and why you don't."

Except in the morning we do not talk like rational people, because Noah is on his way to LAX before I wake up. The story doesn't quite end there. There are painful phone conversations before the final explosion. Noah insisting he should come back, me shutting him down. Noah needing to help, me needing to stand on my own. We do not mention his insane proposal. Lee does his best to mediate, even though he's still not clear on what exactly happened. _I_ am still not clear on what exactly happened. I guess you'll have to ask Noah.

I stayed in LA. I packed Brad's lunches, drove him to school, washed his clothes, and tried to keep him from worrying about dad. Brad humored my attempts to teach him to dance. I drove Dad to a thousand appointments, rearranged the house to accomodate his walker, and ignored his questions about happened with Noah. Dad slowly got better. Lee and I spent long hours on the phone while mentioning Noah as little as possible. By summer it was clear Dad and Brad needed me for the long term. UCLA accepted my transfer application. I restarted my junior year, made new friends, and tried not to miss Boston too much. Lee badgered me to date. I did. A year later Dad told me I'd spent enough time acting like a nursemaid and surrogate mom, and made me go live on campus for my senior year. It was nice being a regular college student again. Dad and Brad and I celebrated the two year anniversary of his survival with an epic family movie night. I marked the two year anniversary of the breakup by drunk dialing Lee and ranting about stubborn jackasses with savior complexes. I don't know how Noah marked the anniversary. Lee told me he'd taken a job at a fancy prep school outside San Francisco, teaching and coaching. Noah's plan to relive his glory days, Lee called it.

And so here I am, pretending to arrange my flowers and pull weeds from around Mom's headstone, while covertly sneaking looks at Noah, wondering why he's here. I know he's seen me, and I know he knows I've seen him. He's pretending to be engrossed in his book, but I catch him rubbing his neck, thrumming with nervous energy. I idly wonder what he'd do if I headed back to my car without acknowledging him. I don't want to find out. It's been a long two years, and now Noah's made the first step. I can do this. I start walking to the bench.


	5. Wherein We Finally Hear From Noah

_**Chapter 5, Wherein We Finally Hear From Noah**_ _(aka switching to Noah POV; will alternate hereafter)_

I'm starting to think this was a mistake, that I'm an unwelcome intruder on a private ritual. I know Elle has spotted me, but she's carefully avoiding looking in my direction again. I'm still not entirely sure why I'm here. I'd known Mrs. Evans's birthday was coming up, and then Lee oh so casually mentioned Mr. Evans and Brad would be out of town. (I'd laugh at the irony that Elle so often thinks _I'm_ the Flynn trying to puppeteer her life, but it's a sore subject.) The idea of Elle alone on this day bothered me. And I missed her. This was hardly new, but after two years of hoping that anger at Elle would overtake missing of Elle, I was realizing the reverse had happened.

I definitely started out angry. Angry at Elle for shutting me out, for interpreting my desire to help as lack of faith in her, for laughing at the idea that we had a long-term future worth putting college on hold for. Angry at both of us for escalating. Angry at Lee for not finding a way to talk sense into either of us. Then, later, angry at Lee for mentioning Elle too much. Or too little. Angry at Lee for telling me I'd have to call Elle myself if I wanted updates, and angry at myself for not calling. Angry at Elle for not calling.

And then I guess I got tired of being angry. I figured Elle would call if Elle wanted to call. I focused on my senior year. I hung out with my teammates, I passed my classes, I went to parties, I met up with Lee and did not ask a single question about Elle. I interviewed for a lot of jobs and took the most unlikely one. I graduated. I spent the fewest possible days in LA before heading up to San Francisco. I passed the summer overhauling a vintage bike and getting ready to teach. And then, once the school year started, my days disappeared in a crush of early morning team workouts, teaching, afternoon practices, and then preparing to do it all over again the next day. All of a sudden it was June and I'd managed to survive a year of teaching and almost two without Elle.

I went to visit Lee, who had another year to go in his five-year program. This time I did ask about Elle, and Lee told me her number hadn't changed and he wasn't in the middle of this. I went to visit my parents and went on three runs around the neighborhood "to stretch my legs" before mom broke it to me the Evanses were out of town. But after that she found every excuse to drop updates about Elle into conversations. The second anniversary of the accident was the closest I came to actually hitting _send_ on a message to Elle. And then late October rolled around, Lee dropped his passive-aggressive comment about Elle being on her own this weekend, and I bought a plane ticket home. So here I am on this bench, reading a book whose pages I haven't turned since Elle appeared. Just as I'm giving myself five more minutes before giving in and making the first move, I hear footsteps.

Elle drops onto the bench beside me. Her hair is longer than I last saw it, but otherwise she's just the same and it seems impossible that two years have passed. "Thanks," she says after a long pause. She's fiddling with her bracelet rather than looking at me.

"For the flowers?"

"For remembering. For coming out here."

I always remember this date, I want to reply. I have a whole Shelly calendar memorized. I just didn't think I was welcome the past two years. I'm not sure how welcome I am this year, either, so I stay silent.

"But thanks for the flowers, too. She would have loved them. She got me some like those once, for middle school graduation."

"I know."

When Elle and I were dating and new friends would ask how we met, she'd always start the story with Lee and their epic friendship and wind up with "And then I realized his big brother was super hot." It gets a good laugh, but sometimes I wish she'd mention that we've known each other forever too.

"Not a coincidence, then?" Elle finally looks at me.

"Nope."

And then Elle shocks me by curling up on the bench with her head on my lap. It's not unwelcome, just unexpected.

"Can we just sit here a while? You can keep reading that book if you want. I just- want to sit here."

Sure, Elle, I'll just read my book and wait for you to tell me what we're doing. I realize as soon as the thought is complete how unfair it is. I'm the one who ambushed her today. So all I say out loud is "Sure."

But I don't pick up my book again. I sit and enjoy the moment, the warm weight of Elle curled against me. I am trying to remember what I'd planned to say if Elle showed up. I didn't have much of a plan. Find Elle, see how she reacts. See how you react. Take it from there. I am tempted to reach for Elle's hand, but I make myself keep my arms stretched across the back of the bench. I'm not sure how long we sit in this oddly companionable silence.

"So, teaching high school. What's that about?" Apparently Elle is ready to talk.

"I crushed high school. I was legendary. I owe it to the next generation to pass on my wisdom."

"Public service. Laudable."

"And, you know, putting off the real world. Dad wanted me to go work for one of his buddies. My profs wanted me to apply to grad school. I wasn't feeling a rush to decide." Waiting to see what you'd do, I add silently.

"I'm trying to picture you as a teacher. It's not working. AP Motorcycle Maintenance?"

"Math, actually. And I coach."

"Still not seeing it. Had they met you before hiring you to mold young minds? Did they know about the punching and brooding?" She says it with a grin, but it still stings. "Hey, I'm sorry. I was just being silly. I'm not actually surprised. I bet they love you." Elle sits up and gives me a conciliatory smile. We sit in silence another minute.

"I heard you were back in school. Still chemistry?"

"Yeah. My advisor at BU helped me get into a lab here. And dad made me live on campus this year, said I needed to go back to being a normal college student."

"And how is that, being a normal college student again?"

"Weird. Fun. But not as fun as Boston was." Elle smiles wistfully. She's leaning back against the bench now, and I am acutely aware of the brush of her hair against my arm.

"Boston wasn't as fun as Boston was, once you were gone." I want to say more, then think better of it. I think this was the point I'd never managed to articulate back then. That staying in LA with Elle wouldn't have been a sacrifice compared to being in Boston without her. That it was a selfish impulse, not a noble one. That I never doubted Elle's ability to take care of her family herself. But it's been two years and this debate is moot.

"How long are you in LA for?" Elle has returned to a safer topic.

"The kids have Monday off. So until then, I guess."

"Your parents must be glad to see you."

"They're out of town. They don't know I'm here."

"So you're just here to escape the fog and enjoy some sunshine?"

"I'm here to see you." I had considered and rejected several answers. I went with direct. "Figured you could use some company."

Elle fusses with her bracelet again for a long minute before giving me a shy smile. "Well, maybe we can accomplish both of those. Enjoy the sunshine and the company. I'd been planning to go down to the pier, if you want to join me?"

Oh, yes, absolutely, Santa Monica pier, site of half our happiest high school memories. Definitely the best and least awkward location for... whatever it is we're doing today. "As long as you understand the no-DDR rule stands."

"Still intimidated by my superior talents, got it."

It's not Elle's dance skills that have me nervous, but I let her lead the way back to the parking lot.

A/N: I've got chapters 7 and 8 written, but I need to complete chapter 6 before I can share those! Comments and encouragement welcome!


	6. Omelettes and Overtures

**(Elle POV)**

Noah and I had both driven to the cemetery, so I offer to follow him to his parents' house to drop off his car and then drive us to the pier. As I drive alone, the cautious hope I'd felt sitting next to Noah morphs into something more like panic. What exactly are we doing? Ten minutes of small talk after two years of silence, and now we're going to hang out like old times? I wonder if Lee will kill me if I call for help. He's made it clear he wants out of Noah's and my disaster. But he's my best friend and I'm calling anyway.

"Lee's House of Keep Me Out of This, how may I help you?"

Shit. How does he always know? "Um, hi. What am I keeping you out of?" Maybe I can play dumb.

"You tell me. Noah posted to his instagram from LAX last night and now you're calling me. And I know Noah's not visiting my parents because they're here. And now I can tell from your guilty silence that I'm right. So how can I help you and yet also stay the hell out of it?"

"You know I love you very much."

"Yes. And I haven't murdered you or my idiot brother yet, so I must have some fondness for you. So what happened?"

"Noah was at the cemetery." I don't have to tell Lee why I was there.

"And?"

"We talked. I mean, not about much. But it was nice."

"And?"

"We're going to hang out. At the Pier." I can hear Lee sigh. "That was my plan for today! Before I had any idea Noah would appear. But then I... invited him along."

"So here is all I'm going to say: maybe consider addressing what happened two years ago before you get naked."

"Lee!"

"I'm serious, Elle. I've seen you guys together and I've seen you guys implode. I am the world's expert on the Elle and Noah circus, much as I wish I weren't. You're very good at being together and very very bad at fighting. Before you get swept up in your nauseating hots for each other, figure out why you didn't talk for two years. And that is all I'm going to say."

"Ok."

"Ok, I'm going to listen to you for once Lee?"

"Ok, those are fair points that I will definitely take under consideration." Lee's not wrong. I want to ask if he has any idea why Noah has suddenly chosen to reappear, if Noah has said anything, but I've already put Lee in the middle enough. I move us on to neutral topics. We catch up on classes, on wacky roommate stories, on Lee's attempts to get over Kristina. Before I know it I'm driving up to the Flynn house and Noah has beaten me there.

Right, Noah. Regarding whom I'm no closer to having a plan, or any guess as to his own intentions.

I pull up to the entrance and wave Noah over, but he shakes his head and gestures to the door instead. Interesting. I park my car and join him at the door.

"Lunch," Noah tells me. "I was up early and it's almost noon. I need real food before you start plying me with funnel cake and cotton candy."

I can't help but laugh. Noah's college coaches turned him into a nutrition zealot, and Lee and I got lectured incessantly about our junk food habits when we were all in Boston together. We in turn teased Noah mercilessly about his protein bars and green smoothies, but I can't deny the results. If ever a body deserved to be treated like a temple… but that's a dangerous train of thought. Eyes up, Shelly. No getting distracted by your ex's impossible hotness. I follow Noah in and perch awkwardly on one of the bar stools by the kitchen island.

"You're not going to make one of those disgusting smoothies with green things and tofu, are you?"

"Those green things are called vegetables, Elle. If you tried eating some your brain might be able to remember that. But no, no scary smoothies for you. I'm just making eggs."

"You know, I do eat vegetables. I even kept Brad fed for two years with only a little bit of scurvy."

Noah flinches slightly at the mention of the last two years. I wonder if he's going to say something, and I think about Lee's warning. But I'm not up to dealing with our past yet. I want to sit in the Flynn kitchen and have lunch with Noah like nothing happened and this is our normal weekend day. This could have been your normal weekend day, a traitorous inner voice whispers to me. Noah would have stayed and this could have been your life. I shove those thoughts back.

"You need help with anything?" I ask Noah, looking to distract myself. He's busy rooting through the refrigerator.

"You could get some plates out, if you remember where they are. And find yourself something to drink."

I watch Noah chop ham and peppers he found in the refrigerator and add them to the eggs he'd whisked. For all the time I've known him, this might still be the first time I've watched him cook. Lee and I loved to mess around in the kitchen, but back then Noah stuck to bowls of cereal when he wasn't stealing what we'd cooked up. And then in Boston, we were living in dorms; trying not to set fire to the communal microwave was about the extent of our cooking efforts. As I watch Noah move easily around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and cooking an omelette like it's nothing, I realize this may well be routine for him now. There are two years of his life I know almost nothing about. Noah slides the first omelette onto a plate and hands it to me, then pours the rest of the eggs into the pan.

I suddenly wonder if there's a girlfriend to credit for this domesticity. I've been letting my thoughts run wild about what I do or don't want to happen, and it hadn't even crossed my mind that Noah might not be single. That he might not be interested in renewing things. I run through our interactions. He said he came to see me. And I could have sworn the look he gave me then was not particularly platonic. But I recall how he startled when I curled up against him on the bench. How he has yet to initiate any contact. But why would he be here? Why seek me out, on this of all days? And Lee wouldn't have immediately leapt to warning me about, what did he call it, our "nauseating hots for each other" if he thought Noah wasn't interested, would he? That one I'm not so sure about. I'm not even sure Lee would know if Noah is attached. I get the impression their relationship still has Elle-shaped sore spots. Argh. I could just play it cool. See what happens. Bring it up subtly -

"Are you seeing anyone?" I blurt. Damn. I said that out loud. Lee is right. I have no chill. "I mean, this Chef Noah thing, it's very impressive. And new. I was just wondering if it was… because of a girl." I babble lamely in a hopeless attempt to recover. I am certain my cheeks are flaming. So smooth, Elle.

Noah has turned to face me, an eyebrow raised and an odd expression on his face. Finally he smirks. "I guess that answers the question of whether Lee's no-information-passing policy applies to you, too."

I duck my head sheepishly. "He's very adamant about it." I mumble. But Noah has not answered my question. He has turned back to the stove and is sliding the second omelette onto a plate.

"I'm a little offended, you know." Noah walks over to the island with his plate and sits beside me. "You realize I've been out of college and fending for myself for a year, right? Did you think I was living on peanut butter sandwiches?"

"Yes? But this is delicious. So clearly I owe you an apology."

"Apology accepted. And no, not at the moment."

"No?" Then I remember my original, mortifying question. "Oh. Ah. That's good." _That's good?_ Dear god, why have I lost the ability to keep my internal monologue internal?

"Is it?" Noah is clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

"Yes." Might as well be honest when you have no poker face.

"I'm glad you think so." Noah's grin has grown wider and his eyes are twinkling in a way I'd tried very hard to forget. And now he is looking at me expectantly. "And is this where you reciprocate?"

"What?" The grin and the twinkling distracted me. I'm not sure what we're talking about now.

"Since you've decided it's sharing time - are _you_ seeing anyone?"

"No." That's maybe not the whole truth. Lee made me a profile on a dating site last year, and every once in a while he talks me into going on a date with someone he's found there. Most have been busts, but a few I've seen again. But nothing worth mentioning right now. And don't think I didn't notice that Noah said _not at the moment_.

"Good." Again with that twinkling.

We sit in silence for a bit and I wonder if we're going to take this topic further. I can't help thinking about the last time we were in this house together, about that fight gone so wrong. Lee is right that we need to talk, I just have no idea where to start. But I'm loath to disturb the easy rapport we've settled back into, and so instead I ask about the classes he's teaching, about where he's living, about the trips he took this summer. I catch Noah up on Dad's progress, on Brad's transformation into a tweenager, on projects in the lab where I work. We've finished eating by now, and Noah is cleaning up.

"So, now that you've made me eat a proper lunch, can we move on to the funnel cake and cotton candy?" I do actually want to go to the Pier today. We always went for mom's birthday when I was little.

Noah rolls his eyes at me but grabs his jacket. He's headed to the backyard, however.

"My car is out front," I remind him, following.

"It's a nice day, Shelly." He's got that wicked glint in his eye. "I've forgotten what sunshine is like after all that time up north. I was thinking something less… confining."

Of course. We are at the garage now and there it is, Noah's original motorcycle. His stupid, terrifying, thrilling motorcycle.

"Does this thing even run any more?" Noah had just been telling me about the new bike he has in San Francisco.

"Of course. I tuned her up last time I was here."

"Well, good for you. You enjoy your sunshine and I'll meet you there."

But Noah just shakes his head at me with that infuriating half-smile of his, and hands me a helmet. "That doesn't sound very ecologically responsible, Elle. Driving an extra car when there's room for you here."

Room for me if I wrap myself around you, I think. If the goal was to talk before getting naked, as Lee so elegantly put it, this is almost certainly a terrible idea. But as I watch Noah straddle the motorcycle, I find I simply don't care.


	7. Falling Again

**(Noah POV)**

I'm not sure when my intentions for today shifted from "see what happens" to "win Elle back." Maybe over lunch, when I heard her laugh again. Maybe at the bench, when she curled up against me. Maybe the moment I saw her. Or maybe this was always the plan, and I just hadn't admitted it to myself.

Whichever it was, here I am now, trying to suppress the goofy grin that threatens to surface every time Elle looks at me. I had solid reasons for being cautious today, and yet I'm choosing to forget them all, because two years of trying to reconsider my feelings for Elle don't seem to have reduced her hold on me at all. So if Elle is set on heading to the Pier, I know how I'd like to get us there.

I do wonder if I've miscalculated when Elle hesitates at the sight of the motorcycle. But no, there it is, that smile I'd like to believe Elle reserves for me, and then there she is, stepping over the seat and wrapping her arms around my waist.

We set off and the rumble of the engine forces us to retreat into silence. I try to remember the last time we'd ridden together. Probably the summer before my senior year, before Elle's dad's accident. We'd both spent that summer in Boston, Elle in her lab and I at an internship, but we'd flown home for Elle and Lee's birthday, and that weekend Elle and I had ridden all the way to Santa Barbara for an anniversary picnic. Elle loves any excuse to celebrate, so we had a collection of anniversaries. The kissing booth. That night under the Hollywood sign. Elle's birthday party. The beach house weekend that ended our first breakup. I wonder if this weekend will end up on our calendar, too.

Lee worked in Seattle that summer, so for the first time I had Elle entirely to myself. I love my brother, and I've long accepted he will always have his own hold on Elle's heart, but you can't blame me for relishing a summer without our third wheel. Maybe more accurately, a summer without sometimes feeling like the third wheel in my own relationship. A summer to let myself believe I'd earned my own piece of Elle's heart, separate and independent from Lee's. I had a year of college left, and soon I'd need to figure out what to do next. That summer, those three months of seeing Elle nearly every day after work and all weekend - I realized that's what I wanted for whatever came next. I needed Elle by my side.

Look, I wasn't serious when I threw out that proposal during our fight. I was frustrated and confused by Elle's sudden hostility to me staying, and I was trying to get her to listen. But I also wasn't… _not_ serious. I was serious about wanting to stick around. Indefinitely. Even if it meant sacrifices on other fronts. But I guess Elle set me straight that night on my place in her long-term planning, or lack thereof.

And maybe Elle was right that we were ridiculously young. I certainly did my best to catch up on age-appropriate socializing when I found myself back at Harvard, single, and that first summer in San Francisco. Lee made snide comments about my being a born-again manwhore. And then I started teaching and all my time disappeared, and Lee made snide comments about my being a monk. It's likely that Lee disapproves of every form of my social life, and I've stopped updating him. I'm sure he'll have opinions on whatever is happening right now. But I guess that depends on what exactly _is_ happening right now, and that one's still up in the air. I'm liking my chances though. Elle has kept her arms wrapped tight around me for the whole ride, her hands tucked under my jacket, and if she keeps tracing light patterns through my shirt with her fingertips I'm going to need a minute to collect myself before I can step off this motorcycle with dignity.

We arrive at the Pier and can finally hear each other again as I turn the engine off. But Elle seems in no rush to unwrap herself from me.

"Happy now?" I ask. I have parked us as close as possible to Elle's favorite food carts.

"Hrrmmmm?" Elle sounds like she's being woken from a very pleasant nap.

"The Pier, Elle. We're here. I believe you had some elaborate plans involving funnel cake and cotton candy and - well, actually, I think that might have been your whole plan." Elle finally lifts herself from the motorcycle and I follow, resisting the temptation to grab her hand. I may have decided what I want, but I'm still waiting on Elle's move.

Once Elle has obtained her ridiculous pink and purple cloud of sugar, I lead us toward the beach. Elle is telling a convoluted story about a prank she and her roommate pulled on their neighbors, but I'm not so much listening to her words as I am enjoying watching Elle tell the story, her hands animatedly waving tufts of cotton candy to punctuate her giggling narration, her face lit up with glee. It's warm for late October, and we've kicked our shoes off to walk through the shoreline surf.

"Hey, Noah. Earth to Noah!" Elle has stopped and is waving the remaining cotton candy in my face. She must have noticed my lack of attention to her elaborate story. "I'm sorry, are these college hijinks too juvenile for your attention? Are you distracted by all your serious grownup teacher thoughts?"

I snatch the cotton candy and hold it out of her reach. "No, I was just worrying what this fluorescent sugar mess is doing to your brain. This isn't food, Elle. This is a science experiment gone wrong."

"No candy police, Noah! We've discussed this!"

Three years ago, but who's counting? I keep the cotton candy high above my head as Elle leaps for it. She absolutely hates when I use my height against her, which is exactly why I do it.

"Oh, so _this_ is how it's going to be?" Elle raises an eyebrow at me, and I smirk triumphantly. But the instant I do, Elle swipes my sunglasses in one smooth sweep of her arm and takes off running. I chase after her and am about to catch up when my foot catches on a toy shovel buried in the sand. I tumble into her, and suddenly we are wet, sandy, and dangerously tangled. There's really one way this can end, and maybe I should thank whoever buried the shovel for accelerating the inevitable. Elle and I face off, daring each other to make the first move. In the end it's a tie; I dive for Elle's lips as she grabs my shoulders to pull me in.

It has been two years, one month, three weeks, and some number of days since we did this, and we were idiots to have ever stopped. Idiots who are currently lying in damp sand at the water's edge, as the next wave rudely reminds us. I roll us away from the water, and now we are thoroughly soaked, disgustingly sandy, and both laughing hysterically. I brush some sand off Elle's cheek and kiss her again, this time slowly and deliberately. This might be our least comfortable makeout location ever, and yet we linger, rediscovering familiar rhythms. Eventually, Elle pushes me away gently and sits up next to me. I wrap an arm around her and we just sit, enjoying the moment.

"You owe me sunglasses. Those were my favorites." I smile into Elle's hair as I say this.

"Yeah, well, think about that next time you want to steal my candy."

And I will. I'm hoping for a lot of next times. But for now I pull Elle closer, hoping to keep us warm a little longer before we need to deal with wearing soaked clothes on a breezy day.


	8. Muscle Memory

**(Elle POV)**

I realize as Noah pulls out of the driveway and the roar of the engine halts conversation that the motorcycle ride has bought us both time to think. Of course, my attempts at rational thought are made complicated by his wearing of a thin canvas jacket providing blessedly little insulation from the warmth of his skin and the rhythmic rise of his breathing. Surely letting myself enjoy this doesn't count as rushing into anything? But of course I press myself against the broad planes of his back more tightly than safety could possibly require, and I let my hands wander under the lapels of his jacket. I chase the past two years from my mind and pretend this ride is entirely ordinary again. It is my junior year and we are dashing from the Flynn house to escape Lee's notice. It is my senior year and Noah has surprised me with a weekend visit. It is my first summer home from college and we are revisiting all our favorite hideaways. It is my twentieth birthday, the last ride I can remember, and we are celebrating three years together. I've spent a lot of energy in the past two years avoiding memories like these. When I couldn't manage to avoid thoughts of Noah entirely, I made myself focus on the squabbles, the tensions, the final blowout. Now the pleasant memories I'd shoved away are rushing back, and I let myself linger in their warmth. My hands have drifted ever lower down Noah's torso, my fingertips tracing and recognizing every contour, and my resolve to talk before we leap is disappearing fast. I tell myself the physical side of our relationship always preceded the emotional, usually to our benefit. Would we have ever dared a first step without the pretext of the kissing booth? Would we have spent as many hours discovering and building our connection in those first months, if we hadn't been driven by our physical craving for each other? We should talk, and we will - once we've connected again. Once we've rekindled the fire that drove us together. I'm so deep into our most pleasant memories that I hardly notice when we arrive.

Noah makes a show of cringing at my cotton candy choices, and I smile as we slip into familiar banter. It's strange and wonderful being here again, together. I am tempted to take Noah's hand, to loop my arm around his waist, to pull him down for a kiss, and yet I do none of those. I pause at the precipice and let myself enjoy the view, enjoy the thrill, before we give in to the inevitable. And when we do tip over the edge, when we literally go tumbling into the surf and find ourselves tangled and tantalizingly close, the kiss is no less thrilling for having been expected.

Now we are sat side-by-side on the beach, Noah's arm wrapped around me, my head tucked under his chin, and I could happily stay in this moment forever. I haven't forgotten Lee's warning, but I'm starting to think we can manage both at once, acknowledging the past while enjoying the moment. Letting our attraction smooth the way as it always has.

"I missed this. I missed you." I twist to snuggle closer into Noah's chest. The bright sun is almost enough to distract from the chill of our wave-drenched outfits, so long as I stay tucked tight against his side.

"What made you come down this weekend?" I finally feel brave enough to ask.

"I told you. To see you." Noah had looked hesitant admitting that earlier today. Now he says it with a relaxed smile.

"But why this weekend? Now?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while. Seeing you, I mean. And then you were going to be alone for your mom's birthday. I just… didn't like that."

I don't really have an answer to that other than to snuggle deeper into Noah. Except -

"Wait, how did you know? That I'd be alone?" I wonder briefly if Dad told June, and June told Noah.

"Lee told me."

" _Lee_? Oh, I am going to _kill_ him."

Noah's eyebrows rise. "Because you're upset I'm here?"

"No! I'm glad you came down. Very, very glad. But that little sneak had the audacity to tell me to keep him out of it when I called! As if he hadn't- sent you down here!"

"You called Lee? When?"

"In the car, on the way to your house - I was confused! I thought he might know why you'd shown up! And he played dumb, that jackass, and lectured me about not putting him in the middle!"

"Are we now finally having the conversation where you realize Lee is every bit the meddler you once accused me of being? Because if it's time for that, I have these notes I've been keeping for, oh, six or seven years…" Noah is grinning and pretending to reach into his pocket.

"IT BEING A FAMILY TRAIT DOES NOT MAKE IT BETTER." But I can't suppress my smile for long. I guess this intervention was slightly more subtle than stranding us at the beach house together. "Classic Lee, huh?"

"One day you're really going to have to explain to me why it's so endearing to you when he pulls these stunts, and yet so terrible for me to have opinions about what you or we should do." Noah is still smiling, but his tone is only half-joking.

That one's easy - because my feelings for Lee have never terrified me. Because I can choose to ignore Lee's opinions about my love life, but I can't ignore Noah's. But I don't feel like wandering into the landmine-strewn Lee-Elle-Noah triangle right now.

"Like I said, Lee will be hearing about this. But I'm also having trouble feeling overly enraged right now, when this was the result. Nor is Lee what I want to spend the afternoon talking about." I punctuate this last sentence with a series of kisses across Noah's jaw, whispering the last words just beside his ear before sitting back to see his face.

"And is that your plan for this afternoon - to _talk_?" The edge has disappeared from Noah's voice, and that damn twinkling is back in his eyes.

Talking is absolutely what our plan should be. But instead I reach for Noah again, and look him in the eye as I trail my fingertips over his lips.

"Mmm, yes. We're going to _talk_ about how to get back home without freezing in these sopping clothes. And once we're warm and dry we can _talk_ about the rest of our plans for this weekend."

"This weekend?"

"You don't have to go back until Monday night, right?" I flatten my palm against the curve of his cheek and can feel his answering smile before I see it.

"Nope."

"So yes, a whole weekend to make plans for."

"I have some ideas." Noah's voice has roughened and the look in his eyes does nothing to tame the heat already racing through my veins. I am on the verge of pushing him down to the sand and exploring these _ideas_ of his when a pack of kids races past us, reminding me of the urgency of a less public setting for our discussions. So instead of pushing Noah down, I stand and pull him up with me.

"Come on. I said step one was getting home, and this wind is freezing me." Home. The Flynn house wasn't actually home for either of us anymore, and yet it always would be in some way. I lead the way back to the boardwalk and the shops.

As carefully as I'd avoided contact when we first arrived at the beach, still reeling from the memories I'd indulged in during our motorcycle ride, now I give my hands free rein to clasp Noah's hands, to trace down his back and settle at the hard edge of his hip as we walk, to use the excuse of brushing away sand to flutter over every inch of warm skin within reach. There's a boutique with cutesy sportswear nearby, and in their dressing room I trade my wet and sandy jeans and shirt for the first remotely fitting pants I'd spotted on the racks and a long-sleeved shirt embroidered with palm trees and fishes. I think I look absolutely ridiculous, but only until I see what Noah's found.

"Don't even." His look tells me he is quite aware of his own ridiculousness.

"Look, you have only your own inability to run on sand without tripping to blame for this. Don't they make football players do footwork drills? I hear some pros take ballet to improve their agility. Something for you to consider."

I continue to tease Noah as we pay up and escape the shop. We slowly wander back to where we'd parked, pausing to revisit a few favorite hangouts and hideaways.

"So, your place or mine?" Noah is grinning as he hands me my helmet, but there's hesitation behind the smile.

"I live in student housing with a roommate and you've got your parents' ridiculous mansion to yourself. Not to mention my car is there." A very nosy roommate who has heard a few too many Noah stories, not all of them fairly told, and will be sure to have more questions than I care to answer at the moment.

"Fair points. My place it is."

Being wrapped around Noah on his motorcycle is no less pleasant the second time, and now made all the more thrilling by anticipation. I ignore the nagging voice in my head, disturbingly Lee-sounding, that reminds me we have yet to discuss anything beyond mutual gladness at seeing each other again. We have two days ahead of us to work out the details.

The tension is electric by the time we arrive back at his house, and yet we take our time. Noah has an arm looped around me as he unlocks the door, and I lean into his warmth like coming home together is an everyday occurrence. I sense Noah hesitate once we're inside, and so I take the lead, walking us up the stairs to his room. Once there, I push myself up on the balls of my feet to raise my lips to Noah's, carefully kissing him, trying my best to keep my impatience at bay. Noah's arms wrap around me, lifting me to him and walking us backward towards his bed.

"You're still too short." Noah has scooped me up and sat us both on his bed, evening our height differential.

"Deal with it. Which you seem to remember how to do." We are laughing against each other's lips, alternating sweet gentle kisses and deeper more frantic ones. Our hands are busy too, roving to rediscover familiar territory. Noah's fingers wind through my hair as we let ourselves fall back against the bed, and I start releasing the buttons of his shirt one by one. Too soon, though, Noah pulls back a fraction and props himself on an elbow to look at me.

"Yes, Noah?" I am eager to return to my unbuttoning project.

"We are still disgustingly sandy."

"And?"

"Do you like sleeping in sandy beds?"

I scowl at Noah's sudden and uncharacteristic concern for neatness. "So go sleep in the guest bed if you're so fussy."

"I have a better idea." Noah is smirking, and I suddenly realize where this is going. Never has Noah passed up an opportunity to talk me into a coed shower, and never have I needed much convincing. And yet I do hesitate now. It's been two years, and we have barely done more so far today than kiss. As sure as I am of where this is headed, the thought of just stepping out of my clothes and into a shower with Noah is rather terrifying. Terrifying and yet unquestionably appealing. Noah seems to sense my hesitation.

"I didn't mean to rush you, Elle. It's just- we are pretty gross. But we can shower separately. That would definitely be the more reasonable option, considering… everything." Ironically, it's Noah's nervous expression that convinces me. As long as we're both feeling equally nervous about it…

"And waste all that water, after you lectured me about not driving an extra car? Come on, we'll keep the lights low and I promise not to peek." And now I'm the one smirking as I slide off the bed and hold a hand out to Noah, inviting him to follow.


	9. Really Here

**(Noah POV)**

"Come on, we'll keep the lights low and I promise not to peek." Elle's grin evaporates any second thoughts I might have had about my impulsive suggestion.

This is the problem with me and Elle. I make these very reasonable plans, and then Elle smiles at me and I forget that I even had a plan, let alone what it was. Like today's plan to talk things out and apologize for disappearing to Boston mid-fight and figure out where we are now. We're still ignoring the first two items, and yet the answer to the third seems to be "sharing a shower." Which would have been completely ordinary two years ago, and which we seem to have agreed to pretend is still completely ordinary. But of course it isn't.

Elle does not make good on her promise not to peek. At first we mostly keep to opposite ends of the shower, washing sand and salt off and sneaking appreciative glances at each other, but now Elle turns to me, holding out the shampoo. "It's your fault my hair is full of sand," she reminds me with a smile, and we both know my answering eye roll is entirely for show, because we both know it's not a proper shower unless Elle convinces me to wash her hair.

Several times in college Elle tried to keep bottles of her own hair stuff in my room, and each time they mysteriously went missing. There were some caveman impulses I was willing to quash for Elle-not punching every guy who hit on her, not voicing opinions on the shortness of her skirts-but damned if I wasn't going to make sure she smelled of my shampoo and my soap every chance I got. The moderately civilized version of marking my territory. So yes, there were ulterior motives for all those offers to wash her hair. Not to mention the satisfied sounds that working the lather through her hair usually elicited, and where those reactions usually led us. Today's shower is no different, with lingering caresses turning to increasingly heated kisses, but I make myself slow down. It has been a long two years, and I have plans better suited to the warm bed awaiting us.

I step out of the shower first and dry off, then hold a fresh towel out to Elle, no longer pretending not to stare. She too seems to be enjoying the view.

"You should only wear this. Ever." She jokes, waving at the towel wrapped around my hips.

"Yes, this will go over great for teaching. I see you understand dress codes as well as ever."

"I'm just saying, I have fond memories of you in this outfit, lecturing me about poor drinking choices."

"Showing concern for your wellbeing, not lecturing."

"Whatever. The view made it easier to tune out your nagging."

"I'm sorry, what? This view was distracting me from your sass."

"If you find my towel too distracting, I'm happy to get rid of it. I see something more comfortable anyway."

The shirt I'd slept in last night is hanging on the door hook, and before I can object Elle has traded her towel for it. Not that I _would_ object, because Elle in my shirts rivals Elle smelling of my shampoo among civilized territory-marking favorites.

"Thief."

"Feel free to reclaim it."

"Gladly." I grab Elle and haul her over my shoulder. We've had quite enough of the banter portion of this encounter.

Elle is still giggling irresistibly as I walk back into my room and drop her on the bed. I try to be discreet about glancing into the bedside table drawer, but Elle notices and smirks, then raises an eyebrow at my suddenly alarmed look.

"The mighty Flynn caught unprepared?"

"Yes, because I so frequently take girls back to my parents' house these days." I glare.

"Wallet?"

I have to pause and think about it, but no. In retrospect, not predicting this outcome was idiotic. "Nope. Again, you may be overestimating the socialization time available to me." Elle looks skeptical. "And, fine, I keep them in my other wallet. Currently located in San Francisco. Please tell me you are better prepared?"

"Oh yeah, I totally grabbed my date purse this morning." Elle's look reminds me that she had even less reason to plan for this.

" _Lee's room_." We say it nearly simultaneously. But either Lee no longer keeps a stash here, or he's changed his favorite hiding spots, because we come up empty. And I'm certain this is not a question we should be calling to ask him.

"I can be back in 20 minutes," I promise, rifling through my duffel for clothes.

Elle places a hand on my arm, stilling it. "I'm still on the pill. Do we need extra protection for… other reasons? I got tested recently and there haven't been any opportunities to change those results since then. Can I assume that you're usually better prepared than today?"

I'm not quite sure what Elle thinks I've been up to since our breakup, but at least she assumes I'm responsible about it. "I'm clear for the same reasons you are."

"So… I see no reason for you to leave this house. Our mutual recent lack of social life has saved the day." Elle is smiling triumphantly, and I believe we've discussed what happens with me and reasonable plans when Elle smiles at me. And this time she's doing that smiling while sitting on my bed, wearing nothing but my shirt, fresh from a shower where she made her intentions clear. This is a scene that has featured in my dreams of the past two years far more often than I care to admit, but this time I have good reason to believe I'll be waking up happy, not disappointed.

And I do wake up happy. Extremely happy, though not remotely well-rested, given the activities leading to our passing out for the brief nap from which I've just awoken. It had still been light out when we fell into bed, and when I glance at the clock I am delighted to realize it's barely nine in the evening. There's still an entire night ahead of us, and then all of Sunday and most of Monday. And after that… that's the part we need to figure out.

Elle is still asleep, curled on her left side with her naked back pressed against me, only half covered by the sheet. I sit up just enough to be able to watch her. When I look carefully, I can see the subtle changes of two years. Her face just slightly sharper, her hair a little more sunstreaked, the curve of her hip a little fuller, a few new freckles. And then I notice them - three tiny stars on her right shoulder blade. I might have missed them if not for their pale blue ink. I wonder if she'll tell me the story behind those.

Watching Elle sleep reminds me of our last summer in Boston. My internship was a lot closer to BU than Harvard, so I'd spent most nights with Elle. I'd go out for a morning run and bring back coffees, and by the time I returned Elle would be halfway willing to get up, especially if I'd grabbed muffins along with the coffees. Or she'd drag me back into bed to wake her up properly. Back then I'd thought we had it figured out. Sure, we were young, even younger than we realized then. But we'd made it so far. We'd gotten past a year of separation and all the stupid squabbles of adjusting to college life. We'd settled into a balance with Lee where all our intertwined relationships finally seemed to complement rather than compete with each other. We were sorting out what we wanted to be studying, what we wanted to be doing after college. And it started to seem believable we'd make that post-college leap together, too. Maybe not seamlessly, but we'd figure it out, just like we'd figured out college. And then suddenly we were on opposite coasts and it all fell apart. So that's the first mistake I'm not going to repeat - not staying.

I first told Elle I loved her five and a half years ago. I meant it then, and I've meant it each time since, just increasingly so. More meaningfully so. That's not a knock on eighteen year old me, just honesty. The last time I said it was probably in the midst of the breakup. It may have been said with anger and sadness that last time, but only because I still meant it. Second mistake I'm not repeating - not continuing to say it as long as it took us to straighten our shit out. Telling myself it would stop being true if I got mad enough. Letting myself believe it had actually stopped being true - I figured out the hard way that _that_ one was a lie. Elle and I skated over our post-breakup dating lives during that awkward little condom chat, but it's been at least three phases for me. A lot of stupid hookups my last semester at Harvard - the angry phase. Meeting someone I actually took seriously that first summer after graduation. Someone who took me seriously, too. Until she told me she loved me and I realized I didn't love her. Not the way I'd loved Elle. So maybe call that the denial phase, followed by understanding. And after that, nothing significant. Some dates friends insisted on setting up. And then the point when I accepted I still missed Elle. The slightly more recent point when I decided to do something about it. Now today's realization that loving Elle had never been past-tense. So that's the third mistake not to repeat: thinking that getting over Elle was feasible, let alone desirable.

Elle is stirring now, so I let myself trail my fingers down her arm. She sighs happily, then stills.

"Noah?" She whispers, her voice rough.

I scoot back down to curl around her, wrapping my right arm across her to reach for the hand she has tucked under the pillow. "Yeah?"

"You're really here."

"Of course."

"I thought maybe I was dreaming."

"Really here, Elle." And not going anywhere.

 **A/N: Couldn't help stealing a line from one of my other favorite couples… points to anyone who caught it! And apologies for leaving the action to your imagination, but this chapter would never have gotten finished otherwise.**


	10. Idyll, Spiral

**(Elle POV)**

 _Sunday_

The sun is high in the sky by the time I wake fully, and I lazily marvel at the unexpected turn my weekend has taken. I'd had a quiet, solitary Saturday planned. I was going to visit Mom, have one of our chats, tell her all my latest stories. How things are finally close to normal again after two crazy years. How I'm living on my own again. How well Dad is doing. How hilarious Brad has become. How the tight knot of panic that gripped me for two years has finally started to loosen. And then I'd go wander around the Pier, sit on the beach, maybe see if the arcade ever scrubbed off the tiny graffiti Lee and I added to the dance pad before graduation. Call my roommate and see if she wanted to get dinner.

The Saturday I'd planned would have been good, and yet I've never been so glad to have plans completely derailed. I hear the derailer of those plans moving around downstairs. I'd half awoken earlier this morning to see him dressing for a run; how Noah had the energy or will to get up early after all the sleep we didn't get last night is beyond me, but he's always been the early riser to my night owl.

I go searching through Noah's dresser for a fresh shirt and shorts to steal, but the drawers are empty. I realize anew that he doesn't live here anymore, that he must have moved all his stuff to wherever it is he lives in San Francisco. The closet is similarly picked over, just old school uniforms and sports gear. I debate whether Lee's or June's closet would be less weird to raid before remembering I still have swimsuits stashed in Lee's room.

"Interesting outfit." Noah laughs as I walk down the stairs in one of his old uniform shirts over a bikini.

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly plan for an overnight yesterday."

"Oh, no complaints here. I'm pretty sure this exact outfit featured heavily in at least three of my favorite high school fantasies."

Noah seems to be busy cooking, and I realize I'm starving. We never got around to dinner last night.

"Coffee?" I ask hopefully.

"In that thermal carafe on the island." Noah replies. "I figured that would be your first demand once you dragged your lazy ass out of bed."

"You do know me."

"Know you, and fear your undercaffeinated rages."

I'd grumble at him but I'm too grateful for the coffee. "Are those… pancakes?"

"Mom and Dad didn't exactly leave the kitchen stocked for guests, so pancakes and scrambled eggs were the best I could do."

"Hmmm. I'm starting to suspect that whole thing yesterday about cooking for yourself was a little exaggerated. You really just know how to make breakfast." Let's not think about whether that's because mornings are when he most often entertains guests.

"Continue mocking and those steaks I found in the freezer will not get grilled later."

"You know, we're not marooned on a desert island. We could… leave the house and find food."

"In that outfit? We're staying right here."

The rest of Sunday into Monday passes in this kind of unhurried bliss. Just me and Noah, the house to ourselves, catching up on two years of missing each other. My roommate thinks I went home for the weekend. Dad and Brad think I stayed on campus. Other than Lee, no one knows Noah is in town. No one knows the two of us are cozied up at the Flynn house.

The weekend feels like a moment outside of time, separate from our daily lives; a delightful, unreal blip in the space-time continuum. For the first time in two years, I feel entirely back to my old self. I am taking care of no one, worrying about no one, responsible for no one, except myself. The last two years slide away and I even catch myself thinking "when we get back to Boston," before remembering we've both left Boston for good.

And then there is Noah. Noah who is both so much the same and so different from the boy I'd known. Every once in a while a new facet of this older Noah reveals itself. There's the cooking, of course. The chuckling way he talks about his students and their high school dramas, like he's decades detached from that life. The weekends he spends canvassing for candidates and causes. The new favorite bands, the stories about friends whose names I've never heard before. He updates me on Harvard friends I'd known, and the era of engagements has started - he already has two weddings to attend next summer. It's like everyone grew up and moved on while I was back living at home.

And yet, he is still my Noah. The same sly grin, the same roughening of his voice with emotion, the same heated gaze that stops me in my tracks. We cannot keep our hands off each other as we make up for two years apart. He still knows the exact spot below my ear that makes me tremble. He traces the curve of my hip, the contour of my breast, the dip at the small of my back like he's rediscovering long-lost treasures. I find I haven't lost the ability to daze him just by drifting my fingertips over his lips. To make him groan with anticipation and send a tremor rippling down all the way down to his toes just by whispering in his ear. We make love hard and fast, and then more tenderly than I ever remember, and then fiercely again. We fall asleep sated and wake up ravenous. And sometimes it's enough just to curl together and listen to each other breathe.

We don't leave the house at all on Sunday, and I ditch my Monday classes. I decide this is my time to be irresponsible, impulsive, carefree. I text my roommate that I'm staying home another night. Noah's flight is Monday evening and I intend to seize every minute before returning to reality.

I try to think about what's next. I imagine weekend visits when we can manage it. Going to San Francisco to discover this whole new life of his. I wonder whether and what to tell my dad. And Lee, who's been conspicuously quiet since our call. I am tempted several times to message him, hesitating between cryptic updates and heartfelt rejoicing and confused outpourings, and in the end sending nothing. But worry is creeping in nonetheless. We still haven't addressed the breakup, or acknowledged that two years passed without contact. We've talked about some of the events of the past two years, about what we'd each been up to, but never about why we needed to do this catching up, why there'd been a two year silence. I'm afraid to bring it up. Afraid to break the spell that seems to have come over us, the unspoken agreement to pick up where we left off.

 _Monday afternoon_

"So how long are you going to teach? You any closer to deciding what's next?" We are stretched out on pool loungers, enjoying the midday sun. Noah has an evening flight back to San Francisco, but we both seem to be ignoring the imminent return of our regular lives. I force myself to broach the topic.

"You tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What's next. For you. I'll be there."

"Noah, be serious." I say it lightly.

"I am serious. I like my job, but I never meant for it to be forever. I took it because I wasn't sure what I wanted next, and it's been great, but I didn't get any closer to figuring out the long term. Or at least, not until this weekend. What I want for the long term is to be with you. So when you decide what's next for you, I'll figure something out. With you."

I am simultaneously thrilled and unsettled by Noah's words. "Noah, you can't put this all on me. 'Follow Elle' is not a career plan."

"I'm not going to do nothing, relax. I have job options. Or I could go back to school. Or I could keep teaching. That all could be good. So the way I'm going to pick is to do the one that's near you. Because I have several years of being with you and of not being with you to compare now, and my conclusion is that being with you is better."

It sounds completely reasonable when he says it. I almost let myself believe it would be. If we ignore that those years of being together were, well, years ago, and that we've just now begun again.

"Noah, I- I have no idea what's next for me. I know I'm graduating next spring, but I have no idea what comes after."

"Grad school? Is that not still the plan?"

Getting my PhD had been the vague plan, two years ago. So of course Noah assumes it's what's next. Because he's missed two years.

"Maybe. I don't know. My advisor really wants me to go, but I'm not sure. Maybe I should work for a few years first. Or stay near home until Brad finishes high school."

Committing to five years of grad school seems like a lifetime. A decision way too big to make right now.

"Well, you don't need to know now. I'm just saying, when you do decide, let me know. Then I'll figure out my plan." He sounds so relaxed about it, so confident. And the more certain Noah acts, the more panicked I feel.

The feeling spreads, and I can feel my heart start to race. Noah is being incredibly sweet, but he's adding another layer to the anxiety of figuring out what comes next. I've just started feeling my life is my own again after two years of putting Dad and Brad first, like I can make decisions and try things and make mistakes with only me to worry about.

And it's not that I don't want Noah there, wherever it is I end up. I do, as this weekend has vividly reminded me. But I don't want the responsibility of deciding for both of us. I want Noah to figure out what _he_ wants to do, not just follow me. And I don't want to think about any of it just yet. I want to savor this weekend and make plans for another weekend together as soon as possible, but I don't want to worry about graduation or next year or five years from now. I just want to… be in this moment. Enjoy it. Without the weight of expectation.

I'm searching for the right words to explain this when Noah cuts me off at the pass.

"Elle, don't do this." Noah reaches for my hand and gently wraps it in his.

"Do what?"

"Freak out. I know that look."

"I'm not freaking out. I just - can't we just enjoy today and not worry about next year yet?"

"I'm not worried about next year. I told you, we'll figure it out."

"No, you told me to tell you what I'm doing so you can decide what you're doing. Which is - a lot of responsibility." I try to keep my voice from climbing.

"I didn't mean it that way. Elle, I'm not trying to rush you. All I was trying to say was to count me in, for whatever you decide."

"No! That's - exactly what I'm talking about. I already don't know what I want. Now you're saying I need to decide for both of us."

"Elle, you're reading way too much into this. I'm not asking you to decide anything for me. I'm not even asking you to decide anything for you, not right now. All I'm saying is that I plan to be there. Simple as that."

He sounds so reassuring and I desperately wish I believed it were that simple.

"How can you be so _certain_ about everything? It's been two days, Noah."

Noah's eyes flash at this, and he stares at me for a minute before replying. "Not two days, Elle. _Six years_."

Damn, he's still good with the lines. But he's also glossing over the history. Six years in which we broke up twice - three if I count his disappearing act before prom - and didn't speak for two. Six years in which we were barely out of our teens the last time we were together.

"I'm not sure you get to count the last two years." I finally answer.

Noah's expression darkens. "You can't blame that one on me, Elle. I wanted to stay, you laughed at me and told me I wasn't needed. And now you're doing it all over again, freaking out and pushing me away."

I guess we're finally having that talk. "I never laughed at you. Never." Of this I am certain.

"You reacted like I was a lunatic for wanting to stay. Like the idea I might prioritize you, might prioritize us was ridiculous. Elle, I did what you asked. What you said you wanted. I went back to Harvard and finished up and got on with my life. And now -"

"Yeah, that you did." I interrupt bitterly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Getting on with your life - it didn't exactly take long."

"What are you talking about? I spent that entire fall hoping that once things settled down with your dad you'd stop shutting me out and call me."

"And in the meantime you kept busy with all those Harvard girls I'd made you miss out on." Noah just stares at me oddly.

"Is that what Lee was telling you?" He finally asks.

"No." Lee and I avoided the Noah topic entirely.

"Look, Elle, you're clearly pissed about something, so just tell me what it is."

"Abbi. She came back for spring break and I ran into her. Had lots of stories for me. Some great pictures, too." Abbi Spindler, the other Los Angeles Country Day grad in Noah's dorm at Harvard. I'd almost been ready to call Noah by then. Until Abbi's photographic evidence of how very little he missed me.

"Abbi is a gossip and I'm guessing she wildly exaggerated everything she told you. But yes, I went to parties. I hooked up with some girls. Months after we'd broken up. Are we seriously fighting about this now?"

"I'm just saying, don't make it sound like you were the steadfast Galahad pining away and waiting for crazy me to figure her shit out."

"I… don't even know where to start with that one. I think we are now firmly into airing-of-grievances territory, our favorite game that no one wins."

Yeah, we suck at fighting. As Lee so helpfully warned me. But it doesn't seem to have helped.

At some point in this exchange I had let go of Noah's hand and curled into a tight ball at the edge of the lounger, my legs pulled to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. Noah's right that I'm just sniping at him. And yet I can't stop pressing, picking at our never-quite-healed scars.

"I'm not mad about the other girls. I'm just saying the history is a little more complicated than you make it sound. Six years in which we've screwed things up a lot. Grown up and changed, maybe not always the same ways. And we have these two years we haven't talked about, two years of not knowing each other. Not talking."

"And whose fault were those years?"

I jolt and stare at Noah, mouth agape. "Are you kidding me? Whose fault was it _that my dad almost died_? That I had to leave Boston? That -"

"For God's sake, Elle, obviously not that! But if you're asking why we were apart after that, that's on you." Noah is standing now, hands jammed into his pockets, staring somewhere faraway. "I would have stayed. We would have been together. We wouldn't be having these awkward conversations about who we are now because we'd know."

"Or we'd have broken up anyway and you'd hate me for ruining your life."

"Why? _Why_ do you believe we'd have broken up?"

"Because we were twenty. Because I was pretty screwed up for a long time over almost losing Dad. Because you would have resented me for throwing away Harvard, throwing away your last football season. Because you would have gotten sick of playing house instead of being a normal college student."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Elle, stop telling me what _I_ would have done. You don't know what I would have done because you didn't let me try. So don't justify it now by telling me all the ways _I_ would have broken us up anyway."

"Noah - that's not - that's not what I said." I try to explain, but Noah cuts me off again.

"I _loved_ you. I would have given it my best, and maybe it would have worked out. Maybe it wouldn't have, but at least we would have _tried_. You always were convinced I thought you needed rescuing, convinced I was telling you what to do. But _you_ were the one telling me what order my priorities should go, telling me to leave. And now you're doing it again. Pushing me away when I want to give us a chance." Noah's voice is half fury, half pleading.

I curl smaller at the edge of the lounger.

"That's what I want too. A chance." I hate how small my voice is. "I just need this to be simple. Like it used to be. I need it to be- us. Just us. Not us and… decisions. Commitments. Everything."

"So I'll make it simple. I am all-in if you are. You can take all the time you need to figure everything else out, but I need to know that you take _us_ seriously. That you're all-in too. Everything else- we'll figure out later."

"It's not all about _you_ , Noah. Not all about _us_ and whether I take us seriously. Three days ago it was just me and I didn't have it all together then either. You showing up doesn't sort it all out. And when you look at me like you are right now, like your whole life hinges on me getting it right - it just makes it everything harder. I can't deal with the prospect of everything being so- serious, and then screwing it up. Because our track record isn't great. So I need this to- start small. To be about next weekend or next month, but not next year. I need you to not immediately rearrange everything for me. In case I can't live up to that."

"Elle - I can't do this. Not again. I am done trying to convince you. I love you. I don't see that changing. I want to make plans for my life that include you. And for some reason that terrifies you. You say I'm adding pressure to an already stressful time, and that's the last thing I want. But I also can't do this half-way. I don't want to hook up on random weekends and pretend like I don't care where this is going. If you're not all-in, I need to be out."

The anger has long since drained from Noah's voice, and he just sounds so tired now, so sad. I have been trying desperately to pull us out of this spiral, but I cannot give him what he wants. Not without lying. Noah needs me to be all-in, and I'm not sure I'm even all here right now.

"I don't want you to be out." I sniffle. "I just… I need more time."

"And I'm giving you that time. You know my number. You know where I live, where I work, you know all the people who know where to find me. And you know how I feel. So if you ever make up your mind to take us seriously, you know how to reach me. But in the meantime, I need to be out." He's staring anywhere but me. His voice is flat. Final.

The silence is excruciating, but I can't think of anything left to say. I finally uncurl from my huddled position at the edge of the chair. I make my way upstairs purely by muscle memory. If I stop and breathe the tears will drown me. If I stop and think about what I'm doing I won't be able to move again. So I keep going. I find the few things I'd had with me, my clothes, my purse, my phone, and I keep mechanically moving forward until I'm in my car. I'm acutely, painfully aware than I'm wearing Noah's shirt, but I don't think I could survive the symbolism of removing it. I am in my car now, and I am turning the key, and I am still hoping that Noah will appear and stop me leaving. But I know he won't, because I know him, I know his voice, and I know what I heard. Noah is out, and it's all on me.


	11. Aftermaths and Absences

**Aftermath** _**(Elle)**_

I manage to hold it together until I get back to my apartment. There, I crawl into bed and am working on crying myself to sleep when my phone buzzes at me and keeps on buzzing at increasingly shorter intervals. When I reach to silence it, I can't help but see that it's Lee sending the barrage of messages.

 _Keep me out of it doesn't mean leave me hanging for two days._

 _Seriously, Elle, it's Monday. You do know it's Monday, right?_

 _You tell me Noah has shown up and then you go silent. Both of you._

 _Please tell me you didn't go to Vegas and get hitched._

 _That was a joke, not a suggestion._

 _Elle_

 _Elle_

 _Elle Elle Elle Elle pay attention to me_

Lee has no idea. I debate turning off my phone. I debate letting him find out from Noah. I debate getting drunk before responding. I debate yelling at Lee for sending Noah to ambush me.

Instead I just give in and dial.

"Hey. It's me. You can call off the search party."

"Finally. What the hell, Elle?"

"You said to keep you out of it."

"And when have you ever actually done that?"

"It doesn't matter anyway. There's nothing to keep you out of."

"Elle?"

"You were right. I was wrong. Happy?" My voice cracks and probably calling was a bad idea.

"What happened, Elle?" Lee says it so gently.

"I ruined everything. Again. Everything was great and then I freaked out."

"Oh, Elle. How?"

Because I wasn't ready. Because you pushed Noah at me without warning. I know it's unfair to blame Lee, but right now I need to blame someone.

"Can we talk about it another time? I'm just… not able to right now."

"Sure, whenever you want. But are you sure you're okay?"

"No."

Lee sighs deeply. "How not okay, Elle? I can't really hang up if you say stuff like that."

"I didn't mean it that way. You don't need to worry. I just- I need to sleep on it. I'll call you tomorrow. If you have time."

"For you? Always."

If there's a silver lining to the long and tortured history of our triangle, it's that I know Lee is telling the truth here. We've learned from our mistakes. He always will make time for me, and I always will want to tell him everything. Just not tonight. When it's so raw.

In the morning I call Lee, and I tell him everything. He doesn't take my side or Noah's side, or try to rationalize any of our actions, or advocate for any resolution. He just listens. He asks if I want him to get involved, to talk to Noah, and I don't. But I must really have screwed up if Lee is offering to get involved.

We leave it there for now.

 **November** _ **(Elle)**_

"You look like crap, Elle."

Normally I appreciate my roommate's bluntness. Today I could do with a little less honesty.

"Thanks. I feel like it." Midterms are hitting and I haven't slept well in weeks.

"Are you going to tell me, at some point?"

"Tell you what?"

"What happened. The weekend you were gone."

"Nothing happened."

"Bullshit. You've been weird and depressed ever since."

"It was my mom's birthday. It always makes me sad."

"Not like this. I saw you that morning when you headed out, you were happy. And then you didn't come home for three days. Did something happen with your dad?"

"No. He's fine."

I debate again whether to tell her. We've talked about Noah before. About high school and those two perfect college years. And about the breakup. And she knows he's Lee's brother, June's son, knows he's always lurking at the periphery of my life even when we're hiding from each other. But I haven't mentioned our most recent disaster, to her or anyone else. Only to Lee. But maybe it's time. It would be nice to talk to someone more detached from the situation than Lee can be. It would be nice to have a female friend I actually confide in.

"It was Noah." I finally say. "He came to see me that weekend. I went to visit my mom and there he was, waiting for me. So I wouldn't be alone on that day."

And then the whole story comes tumbling out, bit by bit.

"And then I ruined everything. He was standing there telling me he loved me, telling me he believed in a future for us, and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't promise him what he needed to hear. And he just watched me leave."

"And since then? Have you tried to talk to him?"

"No. What would I tell him? Nothing has changed. I'm still a mess. Everything he said still makes me panic. He and I have had this exact fight, this exact breakup twice now. I don't have a third in me. And I can't do it to him, either."

She lets me sit in silence, and I appreciate not being placated with fake reassurances or cheer.

"Elle, did you ever talk to anyone? After your dad's accident?"

"Talk about what?"

"Talk to a therapist, I mean."

Oh. "No." I admit. "But my dad is okay. We made it through all that."

"I'm not sure _you_ did, Elle. I don't want to overstep, but - maybe it would help. Don't you think maybe there's a connection? Between everything you've been through, with your mom, and then your dad, and how… panicked you get about the future? And even if it's not that - maybe it would still be helpful to talk all this through. Because it's clearly making you miserable."

Sometimes a blunt roommate is a blessing.

 **Thanksgiving** _ **(Noah)**_

Lee calls about a week after the debacle. He asks if I want to talk about it and I say no. Elle will have told Lee everything and there's no point telling him my side of it, because Lee will always be in Elle's corner. And as desperate as I am to understand Elle's side of it, to have some idea what happened, I know Lee isn't going to tell me anything Elle said in confidence. So if there's no point telling Lee my side, and no chance of him telling me her side, there's nothing left for us to talk about.

Thanksgiving is awkward. Mercifully, this year's plan had been for my parents and Lee to come to San Francisco, so I'm spared having to wonder whether Elle is home, whether she'll be coming by to see Lee. My parents are at a hotel, but Lee is staying with me. Another arrangement made before we knew we'd be dealing with this awkwardness.

On Thursday night, Lee and I sit around my living room after returning from the restaurant. After we exhaust the list of safe topics, I give in to the need to ask.

"You talk to Elle lately?" I know he has, of course. "Is she - okay?"

"According to her, yes." Lee's expression makes it clear how accurate he thinks that is. "Have you talked to her yet?"

"No."

"You planning to?"

"No."

"Are _we_ going to talk about it?"

I drain the rest of my beer without acknowledging Lee's question.

"Ok, good talk. Glad we cleared the air." Lee rolls his eyes. He stares at his own beer a minute, then seems to decide something. "I guess Elle can't kill me for having a few too many at Thanksgiving." The half-full bottle he's holding is the only alcohol I've seen Lee with all night. "And she knows I talk to myself when I'm drunk." This part is true. "So I don't think I can be blamed for stuff people overhear."

It's my turn to roll my eyes, but I'm not going to not listen, either.

"Elle is not okay. Sometimes she says she is, but she's not. She's mad at me for meddling and she's mad at you for making ultimatums two days in. But mostly she blames herself."

I continue to stare at the corner of the coffee table, keeping my expression neutral.

"She knows she hurt you. She's afraid you won't get past it. But if she was feeling even half as panicked that afternoon as she sounds when she talks to me about it, I'm not sure there was any other possible outcome when you started in with the grand declarations. You've got to give her time, man."

I scoff, eyes still fixed on that one corner of the coffee table. "I did. The ball's in her court. If she figures it out, she can tell me."

"If it helps any, she _is_ trying to figure it out. It's all she talks about sometimes. But you need to realize - it's not just the two of you she needs to figure out. So cut her some slack, maybe."

I stand and head to my room. It's late. I pause at my door, not looking at Lee. "I'm glad you're there for her."

It's the last time Lee and I discuss Elle for a while.

 **Christmas** _ **(Elle)**_

I flub my eyeliner for the third time and consider just scrubbing everything off. I'm coming off a full week of exams and no amount of makeup is going to conceal my underslept, overstressed state. I'd hoped finishing finals would at least lift the sour queasy feeling from the pit of my stomach, but now the prospect of dinner with the Flynns has me even more anxious.

I've had no contact with Noah since that weekend, and I don't know if I'm prepared to see him again. I'm not sure I have a better answer for him yet. Just remembering the crushed look in his eyes almost sends me into another panic attack. I know that's what they are, now, thanks to my therapist. I have a routine I'm supposed to follow when things get overwhelming. It helps a little. I went and met with my advisor and finally admitted to her I didn't think I should apply to grad school yet, and I got through the whole meeting without wanting to flee. Then Dad had a talk with me about not limiting my job search to the LA area and I didn't burst into tears at the idea of leaving him and Brad to fend for themselves. But when I think about tonight's dinner and whether Noah might be there, and what to do if he's still as hurt and furious and cold as last I saw him, then none of the techniques work.

It's June who answers the door, and she wraps me in a tight hug as usual. I haven't told her anything, and I doubt Noah has, but I think she senses there's _something_. But we dance around the topic because it's too awkward. Instead she clucks at me for looking tired and promises she's made my favorite pie, and it's the first thing that's sounded good in a while.

I see Dad and Brad already settled in the living room, talking to Matthew, and I see Lee at the top of the stairs, his phone stuck to his ear. June notices my furtive scanning of the room and leans in to whisper that Noah should be here soon. I do my best to smile at her and hide my panic. But at least I know, now. I'll go sit in Lee's room and put my head between my knees and breathe ten slow counts and all the other nonsense, and try to think of what I'm going to say.

But it turns out I needn't. I pass an angry-looking Lee on my way up the stairs and I hear him mutter "Coward!" at his phone before stabbing at the red button. Lee turns around to catch up to me, and it's his turn to fold me into a hug. And then he tells me that Noah just called to say he won't make it after all because he conveniently lost track of time visiting friends in San Diego and doesn't want to drive all the way back now that it's night. Because Noah has suddenly become very concerned about roadway safety.

And I can't decide if I'm relieved or disappointed.


	12. Playing the Odds

**Late March**

 ** _(Noah)_**

For the hundredth time today, I tell myself to relax. Just being here is making me crazy, but what was I supposed to say - Sorry, can't chaperone the basketball team's tournament trip because I might see my ex-girlfriend? Yes, I'm hiding from a tiny brunette with commitment issues? So here I am, trying to keep an eye on my students while avoiding any awkward run-ins. But UCLA is a big campus, and we'll only be here two days - what are the odds? Funny things, odds.

After a long day wrangling teenage boys, I gratefully accept the other teachers' offer of a few hours off during the evening tournament games. I need to clear my head of this ridiculous feeling that I'm trespassing on enemy territory. We've been given passes to all the athletic facilities, so I head to the pool to try and exhaust my nerves away.

A dozen laps in, I pause at the end of my lane to adjust my goggles and catch my breath, and that's when I hear it. An exuberant laugh I'd know anywhere, a laugh that has my heart racing as I duck below the rim of the pool to avoid notice. And there she is, walking from the locker rooms to the opposite side of the lap pool. Of freaking course I would run into Elle, odds be damned. I stay low in the water, glad to be masked by my goggles and swim cap. She's wrapped in a towel - the pool deck is chilly - and I watch her twist her hair into a bun before pulling on a swim cap.

As Elle laughs with another girl and fusses with her cap, I try to remind myself of all the reasons I let her walk away five months ago. All the times she's made it clear she has no faith in us. I'd told her to call if she ever decided to take us seriously, and her silence has given me my answer. And yet, foolish hope and bitterness are duking it out yet again. That is, until Elle drops her towel and all rational thought comes to a crashing halt. Elle is... pregnant.

I'm no medical expert, but I am rather familiar with Elle. This is not a little added chubbiness. This is not a big meal. This is Elle, pregnant; I am sure of it. Adrenaline floods my system along with questions I'm not ready to process. I drop even closer to the water's surface, staying out of sight as Elle approaches the opposite end of the pool and climbs in. Once she starts swimming, I vault myself up and over the edge of the pool and into the locker room as fast as I can. My heart is pounding and I crank the shower as hot and strong as it will go, letting the water scald me as I lean my forehead against the wall.

Elle is pregnant.

Elle, pregnant.

The obvious question tortures me. And as certain as I am that what I saw could only be a pregnancy, I have no idea _how_ pregnant.

I think back to October and count. I have no idea if this is what five months pregnant would look like. And Elle had been on the pill. Could she have lied about that? It seems so unlikely. But then, did it... not work? Now would be a useful time to remember all those stats, all those odds from sex ed.

But how could she not tell me, if it were mine? She couldn't. Could she? No matter how poorly we left things, it seems impossible to imagine Elle keeping this from me. But my track record for predicting Elle's reactions is not great, I bitterly remind myself.

 _Lee_. I suddenly recall that Lee was in LA last weekend. He must have seen her, so he has to know she's pregnant. Lee is probably the first person she'd tell anyway, I think bitterly. If it were mine, Lee would have said something, right? He wouldn't be able to stop himself from harassing me to go see Elle and Make Things Right. I can practically hear Lee yelling it, complete with the extra capitalization. And yet I've heard nothing from Lee. Not to mention Mr. Evans - surely he knows, and yet he hasn't shown up at my door to threaten my life.

So all evidence suggests it can't possibly be mine. But then, whose? Did Elle freak out that weekend because she was seeing someone else, despite what she'd told me? Was she already pregnant then? Or did she run away straight into the arms of someone new who doesn't set off all her commitment fears the way I apparently do? None of this makes any sense or sounds remotely like Elle, but then neither does the alternative: that Elle and I hit the wrong side of the contraception odds and yet absolutely no one has seen fit to tell me.

As I finally shut the water off and get dressed, I'm no closer to understanding the image now seared into my visual memory: Elle at poolside, her body at once so familiar and so fundamentally transformed. The only thing I'm sure of is that I have to know. I return to the hotel hosting the tournament teams and spend a long time staring at my phone before finally scrolling all the way down to a contact I've never managed to delete.

 ** _(Elle)_**

My roommate is out when I return from the pool, and I'm glad for the quiet apartment. I've been dodging Lee's messages all week, because I know what they're about and I know he's right. I promise myself I'll call him as soon as I've had dinner, so I'm not surprised when my phone buzzes just as I settle onto the couch with my peanut butter and jelly. But when I pick up my phone, it's not Lee's goofy pic flashing at the top of the messaging app, it's a face I haven't seen in months.

I panic. Lee had promised, triple promised, under threat of death promised, not to say anything to Noah until I was ready. He couldn't have. He wouldn't have - right? My pulse races and I briefly squeeze my eyes shut before making myself open the message, terrified to read it.

 _We need to talk. Can I call you?_

Shit. What does that mean? Why now, after five months of silence and avoidance? Does he... know? But how? I have to know if he knows before I can reply. I dial Lee with trembling hands, praying he'll pick up. Miraculously, he does.

"Did you tell Noah?" I launch right in.

"Well, hello to you too. Did I tell Noah what?"

"You know what."

"Of course not. Even though, might I mention again, someone's absolutely got to tell him."

"Nothing? You're sure?"

"You were pretty explicit about the threats of death. Why, did he find out?"

"I don't know. He sent me a message, out of the blue. He wants to talk. I... don't know why. I thought maybe you'd said something to him."

"I _should_ have said something to him. _Someone_ has to tell him. YOU have to tell him."

"I know. I know. And I promise I was about to call you and tell you that I'm ready to talk about how the hell I go about telling him. So maybe we should, uh, have that talk tonight? Let me just respond to Noah and tell him I'll call tomorrow. I'll call you right back."

I hang up with Lee and hit reply on Noah's message.

 _Uh, hi. Long time. I'm out of town with some friends, can I call you when I get back?_ A white lie. I need time to prepare. I need a plan. I need to figure out what to say and how to make Noah not hate me.

 _Elle, I'm at UCLA. I know you're here. I saw you. At the pool._

Shit. I drop my head between my knees, trying not to panic. It's hard to do with this belly in the way. But I guess without this belly situation I wouldn't be hyperventilating in the first place. I'd wallow in that irony a bit longer but my phone is flashing at me again.

 _Please, Shelly. Just talk to me._

Time to face the music. Assuming your music of choice is yelling and hysterical crying.

I text Noah my address without further comment and he responds equally succinctly _ETA 10 min_.

Ten minutes. What does one wear to tell the love of your life (that you pushed away because you couldn't handle admitting that) that you're pregnant and had been hoping to just somehow... not tell him quite yet? The fashion blogs never cover this situation. But if I'm reading Noah's cryptic texts right, he already knows. Why else would he mention he saw me at the pool? This belly is not subtle in a swimsuit. (How how HOW is he here on campus? He's supposed to be hundreds of miles away.)

I decide to stay as I am, in my leggings and wrapped in my favorite oversized zip hoodie. I send Lee a quick text so he knows what's going on, finish my sandwich, comb my damp hair into a slightly neater mess, and am debating whether makeup would be ridiculous when the doorbell rings. I settle for a quick prayer for mercy to any gods that might be listening. Just as I'm opening the door, it occurs to me that the reason my hoodie is giant is that it's Noah's, stolen many years ago. Oh well.


	13. Ours

_**(Noah)**_

Elle's apartment turns out to be around the corner from my hotel, so I wait outside to give her the promised 10 minutes. I hate this state of utter confusion. I hate that a part of me, the foolish ever-hopeful corner of my heart I've worked so hard to silence, is thrilled to be so close to seeing her again, all while the darkest parts of my heart are hurling accusations her way. I'm terrified that this could really be it, the end. I've been telling myself for five months that the end had come and gone, but now it's painfully clear that I'd been hoping it hadn't. And yet, maybe it had been the end for her. Maybe she'd moved on, moved on with a vengeance. I'm making myself crazy with far-fetched hypotheticals and the only way out is to actually talk to Elle.

Just as I finally make my way to her door, a message flashes on my screen. It's Lee. _If you make her cry I will end you._ Helpful. And of course Elle has already alerted Lee. Of course Lee already knows more about what's about to happen than I do. Lee and I need to have a long talk about brotherly loyalty once I've figured out what the hell is going on here.

I ring. Footsteps approach, then pause. I can't help but scan the entranceway for clues. There are guys' boots on the shoe rack in the hallway. On a whiteboard, a familiar handwriting has scrawled _Oh Mickey you're so fine!_ Before I can construct nightmare scenarios from that, I hear the lock turn.

It's Elle, tiny in her bare feet and swaddled in a hoodie I immediately recognize. Her hands are hidden in the long sleeves and she's avoiding my eyes, her hair falling falling forward to veil her face. I'm suddenly irrationally frustrated at our height difference for making it so easy for her to hide.

We face off at the open door. I'm not sure what the protocol is when greeting an ex who broke your heart ( _again_ ) and then chose not to tell you she's pregnant with a baby that probably is, but maybe somehow isn't, yours. I finally break the painful silence with a muttered "Hey." That should cover it, right? Elle still doesn't look up, and I'm beginning to get angry that she won't even acknowledge me when a barely audible sigh escapes her. I lean down and gently tip her face up, and that's when I see her eyes are brimming with tears and she's biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

"Oh god, don't cry, Lee's gonna kill me." I don't know why I say that, but it breaks the stalemate. A strangled laugh escapes her, and all of a sudden she's sobbing and laughing all at once, and she wraps her arms around my waist and burrows into my chest. I freeze. I want to scoop her up and hold her until she stops crying, but I'm so lost as to where we are and whether she'd even want me to do that. And as she clings to me, the hard press of her changed shape reminds me that some very big questions need answering.

"I'm sorry," I hear her mutter as the sobs subside. "I won't let Lee kill you but he's going to kill me first. After making me admit he was right and I was wrong and I needed to listen to his plan because clearly I'm screwing all of this up. Again. I just - I just - you're here. You're here and I've screwed all this up and now I'm just sobbing into your shirt like a crazy person because you're here and I've missed you so much and you're going to hate me." And then the sobs resume.

We're still in the open doorway. I decide I've got to do something. I didn't catch all the things Elle said in her outburst, but she seemed glad to be holding me. I take this as a sign she won't punch me if I pick her up. I loop an arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, push the door closed, and gingerly walk her to the couch. I'm not sure where to park myself, awkwardly settling at the other end of the couch while Elle wipes at her face with her sleeves. _My_ sleeves, really, because she is still cocooned in a hoodie I'd thought lost years ago, something I'm trying hard not to read too much into.

We still haven't addressed the elephant in the room, but I'm starting to suspect the answer is very, very obvious. An answer that has anger and fear and a growing sliver of irrational joy roiling my system. But I need her to say it. To actually tell me.

I'm trying to find the right words when she looks up at me with a mixture of nerves and defiance. It's an expression I know well, Elle's me-against-the-world face, and I hate that she's feeling the need for it to talk to me.

"I'm sorry for making a mess of your shirt, but -"

"Which one, the one I'm wearing or the one you stole?" My interruption earns me a tiny smile, but Elle presses on. I'm not sure why I'm trying to make her smile, anyway. I'm pretty sure I'm furious. Or should be.

"I'm sorry for making a mess of your shirt, but it turns out crying all the time like a crazy person is one of the joys of the second trimester."

Again I wish desperately to have retained more from human biology class. Somehow these details weren't the part that seemed important then. "I don't remember what that means."

"What what means?"

"The second trimester. What it implies about - this. When this happened." I gesture frustratedly at her belly. I'm angry that I still don't know and I'm terrified at the answer. "I need you to tell me. To say it." I finally say.

The silence stretches. I can see she's lost her nerve. I panic that maybe the answer isn't as obvious as I thought. I panic at the sudden realization that I desperately want this baby to be mine. I panic that if Shell can't tell me, it must not-

"Five months." Her voice is quiet but determined. "The end of October."

My head falls back against the back of the couch and I stare at the ceiling. "Mine," I breathe. "Ours."

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

Of all the ways I imagined this moment, I never expected the silence. Noah would storm out, or cry, or punch a wall, or miraculously forgive me and sweep me into his arms, or some combination of those. But instead, he has gone still. His head is still tipped back, and his eyes have closed, and he has not said a word since that whispered "Ours." A twitch of his cheek tells me he is clenching his jaw, and I see his pulse hammering at his temple. But otherwise, a deadly stillness.

I'm briefly furious at his apparent uncertainty. I remind myself I did everything possible to provoke it. Everything possible to hide this and destroy his trust in me. Of course he'd wonder.

After a few minutes, I crack. "Please say something."

More deadly stillness.

"Noah, please."

This still, silent Noah terrifies me. Never before have I been so unable to read him.

After another minute, I tentatively reach for his hand. The instant our hands meet, his clutches mine, interlacing our fingers and holding on so tightly I can feel his pulse. But still, silence.

"Noah - " I try again, but this time he cuts me off.

"You have had five months to process this. I have had _five minutes_. I need… another moment." His voice is strained.

Two months, I want to correct him. I've only had two months to get used to this. But he has no idea, and that's my fault, too.

The silence is back. Noah still has not moved. And then the third person in the room makes itself known, choosing this moment to drum against my belly. Impulsively, I pull our joined hands to me and flatten Noah's palm against the origin of the drumming. Noah startles, and then I see a wave of recognition flow through him as the kicks start up again.

I hold my breath and hope it was the right move.


	14. This Moment

_**(Noah)**_

"Mine. Ours."

The question is answered; its significance starts to sink in. I am relieved, furious, confused - and desperate to know what Elle wants. _If_ she wants anything from me.

I know what I want. The past five months may have dimmed my hopes Elle would ever be ready to take us seriously, but they haven't changed my feelings. Nor has this surprise, I'm realizing. The unknown here isn't what I want, it's whether I have any chance of getting it.

Twice Elle has bolted when I've dared acknowledge that she is it for me and that I'd like to plan my life around hers; twice she's been unable, unwilling to have faith in our future. And now, here we are, facing the most permanent of connections, and I need to know what _she_ thinks it means for us.

Why hadn't she told me? Would she ever have, if I hadn't inconveniently turned up? Was she just going to run away and hide from me forever, child in tow? Or give up the baby and never say a word about it in a lifetime of awkward interactions when Lee or our parents guilt us into attending family events? I don't believe she could, but everything about this situation has me doubting what I thought I knew. And rejecting both of those possibilities just leaves me back at the original mystery - why Elle has kept this from me.

"Noah -" Elle pleads again, but I'm just not ready.

"You have had five months to process this. I have had _five minutes_. I need... another moment." I breathe out.

As I try to puzzle out Elle's motivations, I realize I have no doubts about mine. It's Elle, and it's our baby. No matter how angry and hurt I am to find out this way, how utterly confused, I never could not want this. I just desperately need to know that Elle wants this too. That hiding this wasn't because she's going to shut me out again. That she's going to let me be there, on any terms. Better yet, that she's going to give _us_ a chance. That under all that panic she's at least a little bit happy about this. The way I'm realizing I am.

Suddenly, Elle yanks my hand and presses it to her belly. Before I can wonder why, I have my answer as something - _someone_ \- faintly drums against my palm.

Realization dawns. The feeling is otherworldly and humbling, and for a moment I can't breathe, afraid to miss a beat. All of a sudden I stop caring why Elle hadn't told me yet, or what the hell this means for us. I just need to have this moment. This moment of being with Elle and marveling at the idea of a baby. I don't want to be cheated of this moment just because the circumstances are- whatever this is.

I sit up and look at Elle for the first time since she confirmed this strange creature kicking against my hand is ours.

"I have a lot of questions. A lot of things we need to talk about, things I need to say." Elle starts to respond, but I press on. "To be honest, some anger. And probably I'll say some unfair things, and you will too, and it'll get worse before it gets better, because our track record for hard conversations is not great. But I'm going to believe that it _will_ get better again. Because we have to work this out, this time. And right now, for just a little while, I want to pretend that we've done all that part already, and are back to good. Can we just - have an hour where we pretend the hard part is over already, and catch up? An hour to just be happy about this, even if we've still got work to do? If... if you want that too."

I wait for Elle to say something, anything, in response. Her head is down; she is hiding behind her hair again. Dread settles into my stomach as I realize she may not feel the same. That she may have no interest in fixing us. No desire to be happy about this. And then her hand clasps mine again, lacing our fingers back together, and she whispers "Yes. To both. To wanting to make this better, and to letting ourselves be happy first."

She finally looks up at me and when our eyes meet I am gripped by a startling desire to kiss her. That wasn't at all what I'd meant by pretending things were already better, and I can think of a thousand reasons why we shouldn't quite yet. And yet I have never wanted to kiss her more than in this moment, so I ask anyway. "Shell, this is a terrible idea, but I just really need -" She reads my eyes, or maybe she's just feeling the same need, because before I can finish the question, her lips are on mine. The kiss is short but searing, and we pull back as though startled by the intensity.

And then she laughs, the same irrepressible laugh that caught my attention from across a pool and set off tonight's collision course. "Lee's going to kill me," she chokes out mid laugh. "I - I told him you were coming over and all he said was - look."

Elle hands me her phone and there's Lee's latest on her screen. _No kissing until you figure your shit out._ I wordlessly find Lee's threat to me about making her cry and show it to her. "I guess we're 0 for 2 on listening to Lee."

Elle laughs again, a little more sadly this time. "Sounds about par for the course for us."

"Do me a favor and don't tell me how Lee thinks this should end up. I don't want to screw this up just to contradict my little brother."

"Deal, but I'm telling him we're talking. I'm shocked he hasn't blown up both our phones asking for updates."

"He's probably on a plane to California already."

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

Noah smirks as he tells me Lee is probably on a plane to California already, and in that instant he looks like my Noah again, like the last two and a half years never happened. Or even just the last five months, if I'm being honest. Good job screwing it all up _twice_ , Elle. But Noah seems to believe we can be fixed. And if he believes that, if he thinks he can forgive me, if he's not completely thrown by this news, that's - a lot better than the alternative. A lot better than what I imagined when I saw his text tonight. A lot better than the nightmares I've been having since I found out.

But that's for later, along with a lot of other hard conversations. For now, we have some catching up to do. And if that's going to happen, I need some food. Too bad liquid courage is off the table for another four months.

"Noah - before we... do this and sit down and talk, I need a snack. And another glass of water. And a, uh, trip to the restroom. Maybe that can be item one on the So I'm Pregnant discussion agenda: the needing snacks and water and the bathroom _.time_." I'm rambling, but it earns me another smirk.

"I could use food too. I was planning to have dinner after swimming, and then, - well, you know, I was distracted by some surprises. But now..."

"Having either of us hangry would probably be bad, agreed. Nachos?"

I get the toppings out and let myself get wistful as I watch Noah assemble nachos like we're back in high school having a movie night with Lee.

"You still like these the same way, or are there any weird cravings I need to know about? Should I add pickles or something?"

A pregnancy joke. Noah's smile doesn't reach his eyes. We're both treading gingerly. I chase away thoughts of how this could have been under more normal circumstances. Noah and I, together, older, expecting on purpose. I remind myself it was precisely the prospect of those normal circumstances that scared me away and caused this mess. Time to play the hand you dealt yourself, Elle.

I send Lee a quick message. _We're talking. So far so good. Talk to you tomorrow._

My phone buzzes back immediately. _NO KISSING._

 _I said talk to you tomorrow._

 _DO I NEED TO FLY OUT THERE?_

 _Please, no. One surprise Flynn is enough for a weekend._

 _Why is he even there? You ask him that yet?_

 _We haven't gotten that far._

 _Probably got tired of creeping on my social media in the hopes of a Shellllllly sighting and decided to stalk you directly._

 _GOOD NIGHT, LEE._

I put away my phone. This seems like a no distractions kind of discussion we need.

Noah is putting the finishing touches on the nachos. I grab a seltzer. "You want a drink? My stuff is all boring, but Mickey won't mind if you grab a beer."

Noah is facing away from me, but I see his entire body stiffen.

"Mickey, my roommate."

Noah's shoulders relax slightly.

"My female roommate."

His shoulders relax another inch.

"And those shoes and that jacket you keep stealing looks at when you think I won't notice are Mickey's boyfriend's."

His shoulders are back to normal and he turns to face me with a sheepish smile.

"I know we're not talking about this right now, but for the record, if this even needed to be said, there's no Elle's boyfriend. You can put your punching fists away." I add.

Noah glares at me but I see the relief in his eyes.

"As long as we're just establishing the record, there's no Noah's girlfriend, either."

"Noted." I don't let Noah see me smile as I walk away.

* * *

 _ **(Noah)**_

My phone buzzes while Elle is in the bathroom.

 _Threat to end you if you make her cry still stands._

I send Lee an eye roll back.

 _I am dead serious. She sounded hopeful just now. I'm violating my bff oath of secrecy to tell you that. Don't eff this up._

Typical Lee. Elle springs a secret pregnancy on me and I'm still the bad guy. I'm not dignifying this with a response.

 _I know you're not the bad guy this time. Don't eff it up anyway._

Lee's a good brother.

 _And KEEP YOUR PANTS ON._

A really obnoxious good brother. _good night, lee_

 _That's what she said._

 _GOOD NIGHT, LEE._

 _yep, exactly like that, with the allcaps. Guess you guys are in sync again. DON'T EFF THIS UP._

I think he's done but a last message flashes as Elle returns.

 _But seriously, figure this out. Uncle Lee's orders._

Uncle Lee. Yikes. Guess it's time to start talking, because this just got very real.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope using left- and center-alignment to distinguish texts back and forth was readable. I would have preferred left- and right-, but right-alignment doesn't seem to be an option within FFN.**

 **Thanks so much to those who've been posting comments! I've probably got a couple more biweekly updates coming, and then will likely need to slow back down to weekly. I had chapters stashed for this phase of the story, and didn't want to torture folks with long waits when so much was happening.**


	15. Catching Up

_Previously:_ Can we just - have an hour where we pretend the hard part is over already, and catch up?

* * *

 _ **(Noah)**_

We reclaim our positions at opposite ends of the couch. This catching up had been my idea, but I'm not sure where to start.

"July 18. That's when I'm due." Elle eventually volunteers.

"July 18. So that's… four more months. Not quite."

"But it could be a little earlier or later. So mid-July sometime. But I should be able to get through finals no problem. I'll just be huge for graduation."

I smile at the thought of a very pregnant, very short Shelly in a cap and gown. But "when" wasn't actually the first question I'd had in mind.

"How?" This earns me a raised eyebrow. "I mean, obviously, I understand the mechanics. I just thought we were being… safe."

"I thought so too. Turns out we were… 97% safe. Lucky us."

I return Elle's half-smile. Guess I should have insisted on that pharmacy run after all. But I didn't and here we are, and I'm not sure I'm entirely sorry.

"Can I ask you something that I promise I don't intend in a weird way?" This one elicits a _very_ raised eyebrow. "Yeah, that still sounded wrong. I'm sorry. But - can I see you? Without this hoodie whose ownership we will definitely be addressing? I saw you at the pool, and I'm not sure _that_ image will ever leave me, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around the reality of you, pregnant."

"Only if you tell me why you were even at my pool."

"Chaperoning the all-state high school basketball tournament. Thought I'd relax with some laps."

"Not so relaxing after all?" Elle cringes at my answering glare.

She stands, and with the giant hoodie I almost can't tell. I could have run into her on the street and just thought, huh, Shell looks a little heavier. But when the hoodie comes off and Elle stands in just her tank top and leggings, I can only stare in awe at the transformation. And it's not just the belly, either. An inappropriate thought strikes, and I fail miserably at keeping a straight face.

"What?" Elle demands.

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"I was just remembering that summer I came home from football camp to discover you'd grown - those. And now, _well_." I can't help it, I have to give her my most exaggerated leering look when I say this.

"Just shut up. You're worse than Lee."

"I would hope my reactions to your breasts are very, very different than Lee's. Also, please note I did not call them 'boobies,' which is more than I can say for him." I'm cracking up now, and Elle giggles too.

"Bosoms. He was trying so hard to be respectful last week, so he called them _bosoms_ when he asked if I'd been hitting the human growth hormone again." We grin at the memory.

I'm dying to ask about Lee and how long he's known and what he's known, but I'm not ready to go there yet.

"Seen enough, or are you going to keep the pregnant lady on her feet all night?"

Ah, the first playing of the pregnant lady card. I gallantly wave Elle back to the couch. She leaves the hoodie off, and this time she sits next to me. I cannot stop staring. If I keep my gaze high, she looks just the same. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair has the wild curl it gets when she lets it air dry; it's always been my favorite way to see her, a look I remember from lazy weekend nights in college when neither of us felt like going out. And then my eyes drift down and take in the full picture, and suddenly things aren't so familiar anymore.

"I'll spare you trying to figure out how to make 'Can I touch?' not sound pervy. Yes, go ahead. Everyone wants to touch the pregnant belly. I'm getting used to it."

She's trying to sound blasé, but we both know I'm not "everyone." I may be the last to know, but I'd like to think I have a higher claim to this particular belly. Note to self: never phrase it that way to Elle unless I want the caveman lecture again. Maybe "interest in" is better than "claim to." I lightly rest both hands on her belly and marvel at the unfamiliar taut roundness. I'm a little disappointed not to feel any motion this time.

"He's probably asleep."

"He? It's a boy?" I'd been picturing a miniature Shelly. I mean, more miniature than usual.

"I don't actually know. I could have found out at the last scan, but I wasn't ready for it to be so real, so specific. And - I felt guilty. Finding out… without you."

"THAT you felt guilty about?" The bitterness slips out before I can bite the words back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that. I was just surprised. But we said we'd deal with the hard parts later. We can talk about this later."

"I was going to tell you." Elle whispers. "I just had to accept it for myself first. And then figure out how to tell you. What to tell you. How you might react. What I'd do about how you might react."

I think I know what she's getting at, and it's not the time for this yet, so I steer us back to milder topics. "Well, just for the record, I'm rooting for a girl. The Flynn male genes are… unpredictable. You think you're getting me, and then, surprise - Lee." This earns me exactly the hard shove I was hoping for.

"Well, I'm hoping for a Lee clone. Just to torture you. And look, you've made him - or her - mad, too and they're taking it out on me."

The sensation is just as miraculous the second time. Before I can think better of it, I pull Elle back against my chest so I can wrap my arms around her. She relaxes against me, leaning her head on my shoulder. I close my eyes and just let myself soak in this reality. This is what I meant by pretending for just an hour. We have hard conversations ahead, but for now I want to revel in holding Elle and this belly I still can't quite believe.

"Who knows?" I suddenly think to ask. "Besides Lee."

"My dad. Brad. My roommate Mickey. My advisor. A few classmates and friends here. That's it. Well, and apparently anyone who's seen me at the pool."

"Not my parents?"

"No. I couldn't tell them before telling you. And I haven't seen them since finding out, anyway."

"But you saw them at Christmas." Just because I made sure I was nowhere near that dinner doesn't mean I didn't know exactly where Elle was.

"I didn't know at Christmas. I was three months gone before I got a clue."

"How?" I'm stunned. "Can't you take those tests really early?" I realize my pregnancy knowledge derives entirely from TV shows and commercials. I'm going to need to improve that.

"You can, if you have reason to think you're pregnant. I didn't. I was on the pill. And when my period didn't show up, that wasn't unusual for me. The pill makes it really light most months."

I blanch a little, and Elle smiles. For someone who's patched up cuts after as many fights and scrimmages as I have, you'd think I'd be less squeamish about blood when it comes to - girl stuff. ( _Woman_ stuff, the Shelly in my head rants.) Something else I'm probably going to need to get over quick. "But weren't you… puking and stuff?"

"Not everyone pukes. And I was distracted and feeling crappy anyway for other reasons. I was… really sad. And then so busy with finals. And then getting ready for the next quarter. Being exhausted and moody all the time seemed normal. And then Mickey took one look at me when she got back to campus in January and made me go buy a test."

"So Mickey's psychic?"

"Mickey's been volunteering at a youth shelter for years. I wasn't the first case of total pregnancy denial she's seen. And she knew - about us. That weekend. I think she'd had suspicions for a while, even if I was oblivious."

"So you found out - at the end of January?" Elle nods. "And - are you feeling okay now? Is everything going okay with - this?" I'm still stumbling over the words "pregnancy" and "baby." I woke up this morning worrying about keeping fifteen teenage boys out of trouble on a college campus and now I'm in some trouble of my own.

"Yeah. Everything looked good with Dino on the last scans. You want to see a picture?"

I do, desperately, but first - "Dino? You're naming it - Dino?" I'm hoping now is not too soon for me to claim a vote on these matters, because this one might merit a veto.

"Just temporarily, relax. Calling it 'it' all the time was getting weird."

"But - Dino? Really?"

Elle giggles. "You can blame Mickey. She's disturbingly obsessed with Jeff Goldblum and when I was staring at that positive test and telling her it couldn't possibly be accurate because I'd been on the pill, she just kept telling me 'Life finds a way' in this terrible Goldblum voice to make me laugh. And then she came to the first scan with me and you know, early on, with the little short arms and big head - it did look a lot like a dinosaur. So, Dino. Lee's rooting to make that the real name."

"Lee and I will be having a talk. About a lot of things. But I do want to see a picture."

Elle doesn't take the bait about Lee, but retrieves her phone and thumbs through her pictures. "Here. This is the latest. Not so dinosaur-like anymore."

"Damn." I am… not very eloquent in this moment. The picture is blurry and black and white, but unmistakable - a tiny face and a waving hand. "Can you send this to me? So I can look at it when I wake up tomorrow and wonder if this was all a crazy dream?" I'm only half kidding about expecting I'll need proof today was real. Even sitting here with my hands on the evidence it feels unreal.

Suddenly I realize how soon July is. The logistics of it all start to hit me. I have no idea where Elle plans to be living by July, of how the baby waving at us from that picture fits into her post-graduation plans - or even what those plans are. How she's going to afford all of this. That one should be an easy answer, but money was always a touchy subject between us. I had planned to stay in San Francisco for the summer. Had planned to keep teaching next year. Now I'm pretty sure I need to be here, or at least I _want_ to be here, but I don't know yet on what terms I'll be welcome. Telling Elle I want to make any change to my life to be closer to her has not worked out well for me in the past. But this time it's not just us in the equation. This time we _have_ to get it right.

The jarring realization that we'll soon have parental responsibilities overlaying our romantic entanglements reminds me of something Elle said earlier. "Elle, you really haven't told my mom yet?"

"No. I saw her at Christmas, but I didn't know. And I've been kind of avoiding her lately, now that… things are getting obvious."

"But don't you _want_ to talk to her? I know how close you two are. And this seems like something you'd want a mom to talk to about."

"Yeah. But she's _your_ mom. How could I tell her before telling you? I had to figure things out with you first."

I feel guilt, not for the first time, that our relationship disasters have complicated Elle's relationship with my mom. "But you did tell Lee." Another relationship central to Elle's happiness that we've strained again and again.

"I had to. He'd had last week's visit planned for months. I couldn't tell him to not come. And then once he was here, it's not like I could hide it. But I think he suspected something was up. I've probably been acting weird to him since January. And I thought he could help me figure out how to tell you."

"You only told Lee last week? Not when you found out?" I'm stunned, again.

"Yeah. Noah, what did you think my plan was, to tell your family and not you?"

Maybe, to be honest. I'm used to not being the first Flynn on her list. And it made sense. Lee was her best friend, and my mom her almost-mom, for years before I was - everything we've been. Whatever she's thinking we are now. I feel both guilty and oddly encouraged that Elle kept this from Lee and my mom for so long, for me. "Well, let's get this figured out at least enough to tell my mom, then. You must be dying to talk to her. And she's going to be thrilled."

"You think?" Elle looks skeptical.

"Thrilled with _you_ , yes. Me, I'm sure she'll have other words for. And telling my dad should be awesome." It does occur to me that Elle's involvement is likely the one singular circumstance under which my mom is going to be thrilled to hear I'm making her a grandmother already. Which is fair, because Elle's involvement is also the only circumstance under which _I'm_ happy about it.

"I'll make sure your parents know _you_ were the one advocating for a pharmacy run and I was the one confident in our 97% odds." Elle smiles as she says this, but her voice falters.

"Elle - you know I don't blame you, right? We did this. Both of us." Elle is looking away. "And, blame would be the wrong word anyway. You and I, we have a lot to figure out. But shock aside - this doesn't strike me as the absolute worst news in the world." If, if, _if_ , we can get this right between us, I add silently.

Elle has sat up a little, pulling back from me, and is still looking away. "It felt like it might be the worst news. When I found out." She finally whispers. Her voice is rough and I realize she's crying. I gently pull her back to me, and I can feel her hesitation before she lets herself be tucked against my chest.

"I wish I'd been there when you found out."

"Yeah, well, I screwed that one up too."

"No, Elle - I didn't mean it like that. I wish I'd been there - for you. It can't have been easy."

Elle doesn't respond to that one, just cries harder, her head buried against me.

"Elle - did you… not want this baby? I mean, obviously this wasn't intentional. But was it- too late, when you found out, for you to have options?"

I feel the hand that had been curled near my shoulder clench. "No," she finally says. I wonder which question she's answering. I keep her tucked tight against me and wait. We're getting to the hard conversations. We can't skip over them this time.

"It wasn't too late. And I did think about it. But I didn't want to. I desperately wanted to not be in this situation, at least not like this, not now, with things as they were between us. But when Mickey asked if I'd thought about ending it, the idea made me even sadder. So I didn't. I didn't do anything, really. For a month I didn't tell anyone other than Mickey, not even my dad, and I just tried not to think about it. To just go to classes and go to lab and put off figuring out what to do." Elle's voice has evened out as her tears have stopped. "And then this belly started happening and I couldn't keep hiding it. I told my dad a month ago. And Brad. No way he wasn't going to overhear _that_ conversation with Dad. And then Lee showed up last week."

And today I showed up. I'm realizing I'm not as last to know, or by as long, as I had assumed in my initial fury. "Elle - does your dad know it's mine? Because if he does, I can't believe he hasn't shown up at my door yet."

"He knows what happened. And he knows I needed to tell you myself."

"God, he must hate me. I'm living up to all his worst fears."

Elle smiles sadly. "No, I said he _knows_. Not just that it's yours, but also that I was the one who ran away when you were - all in. And you disproved his worst fears about you a long time ago. Even before you dropped everything to take care of us after the accident. You'd been in his good books for a while."

"Had been, past tense," I note.

"I mean, he's not thrilled with this development. But right now I'm the one he's most unhappy with."

"So I have until he knows I've found out?"

"Probably. He might give us a day before he starts demanding to know our intentions."

Ah, yes, our intentions. A topic starred, highlighted, and underlined on the list of urgently necessary conversations. I'm debating how to start that conversation when the door swings open. A tall blonde walks in and stops short when she sees us. Really, when she sees me. And then she flashes me a smile that is more feral than friendly.

"The infamous other Flynn brother. About damn time you showed up, _Dad_."

* * *

A/N: For those not as obsessed with Jeff Goldblum/Jurassic Park as Mickey is, "Life, uh, finds a way": watch?v=kiVVzxoPTtg


	16. Meet the Roommate

_Previously:_ A tall blonde walks in and stops short when she sees us. Really, when she sees me. And then she flashes me a smile that is more feral than friendly.

"The infamous other Flynn brother. About damn time you showed up, _Dad_."

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

Noah's reaction today has been… calmer than I expected. He's at least not at either of the extremes I'd feared, neither furious and storming out nor leaping to grand declarations I'm not ready for. At moments it has even felt relaxed between us, until I look down and remember what's precipitating this little reunion. But it seems the clock is running out on our hour of putting off the hard conversations, and now here's Mickey to make things even more interesting.

"Noah, my roommate Mickey. Mickey, my… Noah." There, I've made the introductions.

"Noah. Oh, Noah, Noah, Noah. I've heard _so_ much about you." Mickey sits herself on the coffee table, facing us, and props her elbows on her knees, steepling her fingers. She's an actress, and I'm pretty sure she's taking this act straight from one of her audition scenes. I'd enjoy watching her mess with Noah if I had a bit more detachment from the situation.

To his credit, Noah hasn't flinched. "It sounds like I have you to thank for taking care of Elle these past couple months. So - thank you." He meets Mickey's stare and holds it. I've pulled back slightly from him, just enough to be able to see him and to see Mickey, but his arm stays around me, one hand still splayed protectively over my belly.

"I see you finally gave up on your ridiculous plan to never speak to Elle again? And just in time, as you seem to have noticed."

I can see Noah bristle at her words and I should probably intervene before the two of them get off on the wrong foot.

"Mickey - lay off. You know -" is all I can get out before Noah jumps in.

"I can assure you I would have reconsidered waiting for Elle to make up her mind if I'd had any idea about _this_. If anyone had bothered to tell me." Noah sounds understandably riled and I really need to head this off.

"Both of you - chill. Mickey, back off. These are conversations Noah and I need to have. And we all know the current ridiculousness is my fault."

"Oh, honey, no doubt about that. You're _both_ obstinate idiots. I'm just glad one of you finally caved. So who gets the prize for being slightly less bullheaded and finally calling?"

Noah snorts and I feel myself blush. One of us is going to have to tell Mickey what actually happened.

"... not really either of us?" I mumble.

"So Lee spilled the beans?" Mickey presses. There's a gleam in her eye that tells me she knows there's a story to be had.

"No."

"Well, I know I didn't, although I'll admit I was getting close. So I'm running out of suspects. Was it your dad? Was a shotgun involved?"

"It wasn't anyone. Just- bad timing. Or maybe good timing. Noah's here with his students and we, ah, ran into each other." Noah is continuing to keep an impressively straight face and I guess dealing with Mickey is more my responsibility than his.

"You just - ran into each other? And Elle's brilliant plan to wear progressively bulkier sweaters until she's ready to tell folks didn't work?"

"Not at the pool it didn't." Noah says it dryly, but the smile hiding at the corner of his lips fills me with relief. If he can find any humor in the situation… I add it to my list of hopeful omens.

"At the pool? Oh, this is amazing. Lee and I had a whole list of ideas if we couldn't get Elle to call you soon, but this is even better."

"You and Lee are talking now?" I'm more than a little concerned that Lee and Mickey are teaming up.

"You're kind of more than a single bestie can handle at the moment." Noah stifles a laugh here. "Does Lee know about this little reunion?"

"Lee always knows."

The sudden bitter edge in Noah's voice brings me back to reality. As well as tonight has gone, at least compared to my nightmares, I've still got a lot of explaining to do. Like why Noah is only finding out now, after Lee, and only because he picked the exact right time for a swim. Why I flipped out in October, and why I never called afterward, even before our surprise complicated the situation.

"Mickey - can we maybe catch up tomorrow? Noah and I were kind of in the middle of talking. Which I think you agree is what needs to be happening." I'm giving her a pleading look.

"Actually, Elle - I hate to do this, but it's already way past when I needed to get back to the hotel, to switch off with the other chaperones." Noah has retrieved his phone from his pocket and I can see the lock screen covered in missed calls and messages he's been ignoring.

I'm not ready for Noah to leave. He's finally here and we're finally talking, and there's so much more I need to tell him. And I especially don't want to leave things here, at Noah's frustration that Lee knew before he did.

At least Mickey has sensed she's in the way. "Look, I'll leave you two in peace. You can't blame a friend for being curious when she walks in on a scene like this, but I've seen what I needed to see. Noah, a pleasure to finally meet the man behind the stories. Apparently Elle wasn't exaggerating."

"Mickey!" But Noah is chuckling and I'm grateful to Mickey for lightening the mood. Once she's in her room, I turn back to Noah.

"Do you really have to go?"

"Judging from these messages… yeah."

"Will you have any time tomorrow? Or could you… stay another day?" I feel pathetic practically begging him to stay, not to mention hypocritical, given how long I'd kept him away, but I don't want to lose this momentum.

"I- I really can't. And I think maybe some time to... process all this would be good, anyway. But I could fly down next weekend."

"Ok. Next weekend. I can definitely make some room in my very busy social calendar."

"For this? I hope so."

Noah's arm is still around me and we are awkwardly looking not quite at each other. There's a lot left to be discussed, not the least being where _we_ are. What we're parting as tonight. I clench my free hand, digging my nails into my palm, trying to muster up the guts to get out what I want to say.

"I was going to call, you know. And soon. This isn't- this wasn't how I wanted you to find out. But I'm glad that now you know. So we can… start talking about everything else. But I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

"It'll make a good story, one day." It's clear from his tone that now is not quite that day. But at least he thinks we'll get there.

"Did you mean it, when you said you believe we can make this better?"

"Of course. Did you?"

"Yeah." I want to tell him that I was going to call even before this surprise. That finding out I was pregnant delayed that call rather than provoking it. But there's so much more that needs to be said with that and we're out of time for tonight. At least I'll have all week to work up to it.

Noah finally pulls his arm back from me and stands up from the couch. He turns and extends a hand to help me up, and between the sweet gesture and the accompanying look in his eye, it's all I can do to keep the waterworks in check. Stupid second trimester mood swings.

"I'm not _that_ huge yet. I can still manage to stand up, you know." Sarcasm - always the best defense against sentimentality. But I take his hand anyway and follow him to the door.

"I'm done talking to Lee about this, by the way. This should be - between us. And please don't get mad at him for not telling you, he's been badgering me to call you since the minute he found out." It all comes out in a rush. We're facing each other by the door, although I can't quite meet his eyes.

"Elle - you can talk to Lee." Noah tips my chin up to make me look at him. "I'd never ask you not to talk to Lee. Just… talk to me, too."

"Ok." I nod awkwardly.

"But maybe don't tell Lee this part." There's a half laugh to his voice, and before I know it Noah's lips have landed on mine. It's a restrained kiss, one that makes it clear we're going no further. But for tonight, and until we can get on firmer ground, it's enough. Noah's hands had settled at my waist as we kissed, and now, as we pull apart, they drift forward to rest over my belly.

"Trying to convince yourself it's real? Don't worry, I still have to remind myself some mornings."

"Yeah, maybe a little." Noah's smile is embarrassed. "So, uh, you guys take care. Until next weekend."

"You guys? Me and Mickey?"

Noah stares at me. "Sure, Mickey too."

"Oh. Me and _Dino_?" Now it's a glare. "Aw, c'mon, it's a cute name. Try it. _Dino_."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," he finally laughs. And with that he ducks out the door, turning back to give me a half-salute when he reaches the elevator.

* * *

It takes Mickey approximately eight seconds to reappear after I close the door. I busy myself cleaning up the kitchen and pretend not to know what she's waiting for.

"So." Mickey hops up to sit on the counter and stares steadily at me.

"So. How was your day?" Not that playing dumb is likely to get me far with Mickey.

"Oh, my day's been awesome. Rehearsal went great, found some amazing shoes on clearance, hot date with the boy. Was tempted to stay over, but then I thought my mopey knocked-up roommate might need some company."

"So thoughtful of you." It actually is. Mickey has basically been babysitting me for months and I'm not sure what I would have done without her.

Mickey looks like she's about to go in for the kill, but then her teasing look shifts to simple sympathy. "So? _Do_ you need company right now? Things… went okay?"

"I guess? This wasn't how I wanted him to find out."

"But he did find out. So now you can stop worrying about how to tell him. And you two looked pretty cozy when I came home."

"Yeah, and then you saw how he reacted to the reminder that Lee knew first."

"Well? You expected that, right?"

"Yeah. Doesn't make it easier. Gah. If I'd just told him in January…"

"You were a wreck then. And what's done is done. He knows now."

Bless Mickey for not saying "I told you so." Even if she did. Repeatedly.

"He thinks it's going to get better. That we're going to work this out." I feel the tears coming. I'd managed to mostly hold it together while Noah was here, but I wasn't lying about crying all the time being a joy of pregnancy.

"Oh lord, here we go again." Mickey is a pro at handling weepy Elle by now. "Go sit down. Breathe."

Mickey brings me a glass of water and then sits next to me.

"Wanting to work things out is good, right? That's what you want, too?"

"Of course," I nod. "But what if it's only because… he thinks he has to. Because of the baby."

"Elle, he was ready to follow you around the world in October. Just you, no baby. And the man I saw tonight did not look particularly trapped."

"What if he thinks… _I_ 'm only doing it because of the baby?" The million-dollar question that's been haunting me since January.

"Have you guys talked about what happened yet? About you freaking out and everything after?"

"Not yet. I was still catching him up on… this. We hadn't gotten to October yet."

"So get there. Soon. Talk to him. About all of it."

"I know. He's coming back next weekend. So I've got the week to get ready."

"Anytime you want to talk about it, you know where I live."

"Thanks, Mickey. But for now I think I need to just sleep." It's not even ten, but pregnancy has turned me into a senior citizen.

"Go to bed. I'll finish the dishes for you."

Mickey is laughing to herself when I walk by a few minutes later on my way from the bathroom to my room.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just - remembering all the times I tried to set you up. And I thought I'd found some pretty fine specimens for you, but you were always so unimpressed. I get it now."

"Good night, Mickey." But I'm laughing too, because she's right.


	17. After

_**(Noah)**_

The happy haze of having held Elle all evening carries me through the walk to my hotel, and after that I'm thrown back into the distracting chaos of the students. The other teachers ask why I'm so late, but don't ask for details when I say a family emergency came up. Which is accurate, just not family members they're aware of.

I spend the next few hours as the fun police, patrolling the hotel hallway for students intent on sneaking out, confiscating the alcohol they've not-so-cleverly concealed in their bags, and heckling them about how much better my friends and I were at getting away with this shit when we were in high school. One kid sarcastically replies "Yes, dad" the third time I tell him to turn his music down, and suddenly I am laughing too hard to breathe. I decide that's my signal to throw in the towel on this long and strange day, and I retreat to my room after handing off supervisory duties to another teacher.

I'm too tired to overthink today's news once I'm finally alone. There are still a thousand unanswered questions, but I focus on the few things I _did_ learn tonight. That Elle and I are four months away from parenthood, that I have once again failed to get over her, and that whatever her reasons for staying silent since October might have been, indifference to me likely wasn't one of them. That will have to be enough for tonight. I debate whether to send Elle a message, and if so what, until I finally just send a long string of z's, _Zzzzzzzzz_ , and hope that she remembers it's what I used to send freshman year, when we had the time difference to deal with, to tell her I was shutting my phone off for the night.

Reality hits harder when I wake up. As it turns out, I don't need that picture on my phone to convince me it wasn't all a dream, as I wake up in a very real panic and need no reminding why. Mickey's arrival and my need to return to work cut short our conversation just as it approached the hard topics. So many questions need answering, but most of them boil down to the same thing: What does Elle want?

She'd bolted in October at the prospect of me rearranging my life for her, at the idea of making long-term plans. Now we're looking at having both our lives completely rearranged by the most long-term of connections. I'm terrified she's going to run away again. Or worse, stay, but only because she feels trapped. I need to know that Elle's finally willing to trust herself and trust that we can work this out. And I need to know that she's not just forcing herself to do this, to reach out to me, because of the pregnancy. I laid my heart bare that weekend, and she'd just left. And never called. I hate to even entertain the thought, but it's there anyway, bitterly asking whether Elle ever would have reappeared if not for this unexpected consequence.

I try not to read anything into her lack of reply to my message, reminding myself that 6 am on a Sunday is way too early for the Elle I know to be awake. And even if she doesn't reply, I've learned my lesson on waiting for Elle to make the first move. I'm showing up next weekend regardless.

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

I don't know what to expect from Noah after he leaves, or when I might hear from him again. For once I'm grateful for the crushing exhaustion I've been feeling all pregnancy, because even my racing thoughts can't keep me from falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I wake ten hours later to the sound of Mickey clattering around in the kitchen. Dino must be ready for breakfast, because the kicking starts up immediately, and I massage at the spot he or she is targeting. This has become our morning ritual lately, but today, for the first time, it's not accompanied by creeping dread about still not having told Noah.

The dread is gone because Noah knows. I may not get credit for having actually _told_ him so much as picked the right time for a swim, but it's done. Noah knows, and none of my nightmare scenarios played out. Instead, we're talking, and he's coming back next weekend. There's so much left to be worked out - such as where exactly we go from here - but it's _something_.

When I check my messages before convincing myself to actually get up, I'm quietly delighted to recognize a long-ago favorite from Noah. I debate several possible responses and settle for _Glad I went swimming yesterday_ instead of anything too sappy. But then I get a little sappy anyway and pile every sonogram I've got saved to my phone into an email. It doesn't erase my guilt at not having given him a chance to be there, but at least he'll see them now.

Finally hunger drives me out of bed, and I'm thrilled to smell something baking when I exit my room.

"Cookies?" I ask hopefully. Mickey is the best baker.

"Yes, but you have to eat real breakfast first. I made enough oatmeal for both of us. And the cookies are for my study group, so try to only steal, like, half of them."

I wasn't kidding when I said Mickey's been babysitting me these last few months. I haven't been entirely on top of my life lately, but I'm going to have to shape up before I become responsible for a whole new person. I managed Brad alone for several months - a baby can't be that much harder, right? I know the answer to that, I'm just choosing not to think about it right this minute.

I fill myself a mug from the coffee pot and Mickey stares me down.

"One cup."

"Yes, Mickey. Just one cup." Sometimes the babysitting goes overboard. Let's not talk about how many cups of coffee this baby got before I was aware of their existence. At least I felt so crappy back then that I had no interest in alcohol.

"Lee said to call once you were up."

"Lee said? To you?"

"Yes. And he was very relieved to hear Noah did not stay over. Something about how you're supposed to talk before getting naked this time. He said to tell you that, too."

Two of them. There are _two of them_ meddling now. I need to make some friends with lives of their own. Or just an understanding of boundaries.

"Is there even anything left for me to tell Lee, or did you already tell him everything?"

"Don't give me that look. And I didn't tell him anything, he just wanted to know if you were awake yet."

"I'm not sure I approve of this unholy alliance you've set up."

"I'm not sure you get a vote. But at least now you don't need to worry about what we were planning in case you didn't tell Noah soon."

I eat my oatmeal and sip my one cup of coffee and think about how I want to phrase this next request.

"Hey, Mickey?" She's busy sliding cookies off the baking sheet and onto the cooling rack, but turns to listen. "I appreciate how much you're trying to help. And I've desperately needed that help. But I have to actually do this next part, the working things out with Noah, myself. So can your help just be... talking to me? Not - going behind my back or over my head?"

"Of course. I was mostly kidding about taking action if you didn't. My plan was to nag you until _you_ did it. I can't speak for Lee, of course."

"Yeah, on that subject - I was enjoying having a friend who isn't over-involved in both sides of this. This Lee and me and Noah thing is awkward at the best of times, so I was kind of selfishly hoping to keep you all to myself."

"You know I'm always in your corner. That's the only reason Lee and I were talking - because we both wanted to find a way to get you over this hurdle. And now Noah knows, no thanks to any of us, so I promise, I'm done. No scheming unless it's with you."

"Thanks." She's brought me a cookie fresh out of the oven and a glass of milk, so she's forgiven.

"You may want to give Lee this speech, though. He seems to be taking all of this pretty personally."

Yeah, Lee is his own situation. I should give him that call and see if I can rein him in before he turns this into his own personal mission.

* * *

Lee picks up on the first ring.

"Good morning, lazybones."

"It's not even nine yet. On a Sunday morning. Bite me."

"My girlfriend might object. Not to mention - "

Too soon, Lee. Too soon for awkward Noah jokes. Thankfully he seems to come to the same realization, trailing off midsentence.

"So, I was told to call you." I prompt him.

"I think you know why."

"You don't get a transcript of the evening, Lee. We talked. We're going to keep talking. And nobody got naked - are you happy now?" I might have said that a little too harshly.

"Elle, I don't expect a play by play. But last weekend talking to Noah seemed entirely impossible to you, so I just… wanted to make sure you were okay."

And now I regret that harshness. Lee is just looking out for me. "I think I am. He didn't take it as badly as I thought he might." I resist the temptation to ask whether Lee has heard from Noah. If I don't want Lee getting in the middle, I need to not put him there.

"Did you talk about October?"

I sigh in response. "Not really. I was still catching him up on this pregnancy thing. We didn't get much further, and then he said he had to go."

"Coward." I'm not sure if Lee means me for not addressing my freak out yet, or Noah for running off so soon. Possibly both.

"I spent a month in denial when I found out. I can't fault him for needing time."

"He should have stayed anyway."

I wish he'd stayed longer, too. "He's coming back, next weekend."

"Did you at least tell him you were going to call him before all this?"

"No. Not yet."

" _Elle_."

"I know, I know. But now I have all week to get ready."

"Well, we're not done talking about this."

"Lee - _I_ have to do this. Not you."

"Yeah. But you're… really bad at it."

"Lee!"

"Just being honest." He's not wrong, but he is obnoxious.

"I'm going to tell him, all of it. Next weekend."

"No. Tell him before the weekend. Before he shows up."

"Why?"

"What happened the last time I told you to talk _before_ getting naked? Because there's apparently only so many minutes you two can spend in each other's presence before your mutual insanity hits and you stop talking."

"That was different."

"Yeah, I hope so. This time _needs_ to be different. Because you don't have another five months to waste."

"I promise you I am acutely aware of the timeline."

"Good. So have these conversations soon. Before Mickey and I go insane."

"You and Mickey aren't the priority here. And you and Mickey need to stay in your lane."

"See, my problem is that I don't really get a lane in this situation. More like a super narrow median between two freeways. So sometimes directing traffic is a necessity so I don't get wiped out by a semi. Or so two semis don't crash head-on."

"Am I… a freeway in this metaphor? Or a semi? Wait, is this a joke about my being as huge as a truck?"

"It's not a great metaphor. But I think you get my point. I'd love to stay in my lane, if you'd let me have one."

"You do have a lane. Go find it instead of hanging out in the median like an idiot with a death wish."

"I don't think you're understanding the metaphor if you think escaping the median is an option for me."

"No, I'm probably not. Semis are notoriously bad at understanding the finer points of metaphors." I can't help it, I'm laughing now.

"The metaphor is dead. You have killed it. You have run it off the road into a ditch and it is dead." Lee sounds aggrieved, but he's laughing too.

"So I _am_ a truck in this metaphor?"

"Yes, Elle. This entire conversation was actually just an elaborate joke about how huge you aren't. I'm glad we're communicating so well. This bodes really well for those other conversations you need to have this week."

"Wait, I'm writing down this great advice. _Don't build important conversation around really tortured metaphor._ Okay, got it. I should be good now." We're both still laughing and I'm grateful to Lee for lightening the mood, even if I'm not entirely reassured about his intention to stay out of this.

"Alright, got to go. It's already noon here and I have plans for today. Get your lazy ass up and go study or something so you're not knocked up _and_ a dropout."

"Love you too, jerk."

* * *

 _ **(Noah)**_

The second day of the tournament is hectic and after leaving my room I don't glance at my phone again until noon. I'm relieved to find messages waiting from Elle. _Glad I went swimming yesterday._ Yeah, me too. And then, _Sent pictures to your email_. The pictures turn out to be more sonogram scans, including an early one which Elle has decorated with cartoon dinosaur stickers and captioned "See? Very dinosaur-like." She's working very hard to make "Dino" happen, I'll give her that. I'm trying to stare at the pictures without attracting the notice of my students when a message arrives from Lee.

 _When do you get back home?_

 _Why?_

 _So we can talk about your situation._

 _I didn't realize talking was a thing we did._

 _It is now. So, when?_

 _Not leaving before 5, so not home until late. I'll call this week when I get a chance._

 _Sure you will. Later._

The last round of matches goes late, so it's closer to six when we pile into the team bus and well past one in the morning when it drops us off on campus. I've spent the ride staring at the pictures Elle sent and trying to wrap my head around the timeline we're dealing with and all the decisions I'm going to need to make very soon about my job, my apartment, and my life in general. As I walk up the stairs to my apartment, I'm seriously debating cancelling tomorrow morning's early workout. And then I walk down the hall and find Lee sitting at my door, slumped over his backpack, asleep.

I nudge him awake.

"Yowch! Watch it!" Okay, so nudged might have been too weak a word for my attempt to get Lee awake and out of my way.

"What the hell, Lee?"

"Told you. We need to talk." He's rubbing his eyes and then slowly standing up from the floor.

"Right now? At 2 am? No."

"Fine. In the morning." Lee looks like he could use a night of sleep himself.

"And your phone and every other phone in Cambridge broke, so you decided getting on a plane made sense?"

"For this? Yeah."

Whatever. I'm not arguing with Lee at two in the morning. I can tell him he's an idiot once we've both gotten some sleep; it'll still be true. I throw him a pillow and a blanket before retreating to my room.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello everyone! I'm so excited to see the visitor numbers slowly creeping up with each chapter! And thank you especially to everyone who's posted a review or sent me a message - it's so motivating.

I will let you in on a secret - I am crossposting this story to Wattpad (same title, same username: Caroline4329) and I tend to stay one chapter ahead over there. Since Wattpad gets a lot more reader commentary, I post there first in case I end up wanting to revise before posting here. So if you happen to have a WP account, come visit and comment! (and vote. please vote ;) ) And then if you want *more* TKB fanfiction from other authors, you can check out the stories I've saved to my reading list over there - there are a couple great ones that aren't archived here.


	18. Brothers

_Previously:_ Lee showed up. Because of course he did. 

_**(Noah)**_

Lee is still dead to the world when I head out Monday morning, so I don't speak to him again until that evening after practice. He's made himself at home on my couch, his laptop open in front of him and papers surrounding him. I recall that his master's thesis is due soon and I'd feel guilty about disrupting his work if I'd had any input on his decision to fly out here.

"If you'd told me you were coming out here, I could have told you not to bother showing up before tonight, and spared you that nap outside my door."

"And where would the fun in that have been? Plus, apparently people appearing out of the blue is the only way you and Elle ever make progress."

I roll my eyes at Lee. "So. You're here. Why?"

"You really need to ask? You, Elle, a surprise bundle of joy to finally merge the Evans and Flynn clans?

"I'm aware. No thanks to you. But given your long-standing policy of claiming you want to stay out of it while also guarding Elle's secrets, I have to wonder why you're here."

"You two have never actually let me stay out of it." I hike my eyebrows at this. "Fine. _Elle_ has never really let me stay out of it. Plus, circumstances have changed. I have a new policy."

"Which is?"

"Someone's got to look out for that kid's best interests while you guys figure your shit out. I'm not getting in between the two of you when it comes to your relationship, but I'm going to be Team Dino. Because that's my niece or nephew and you guys can be idiots sometimes."

Great. Because we definitely need a third person involved. Especially _this_ third person. "You know Dino is off the table for the real name, right?"

"We'll see about that. I'd also settle for Lee. Which I should note would work either way, boy or girl."

"Never happening. And have you shared this new policy with Elle?"

"Not yet. But I don't need her permission, or yours. Uncle Lee is a free agent."

"You've got to stop calling yourself 'Uncle Lee.' It might be the most disturbing part of all this."

"Yes, well, you've only got yourself to blame for giving me that title. By the way, the next time you're searching my room for condoms? The camera case on my desk."

Information that would have been useful five months ago, Lee. And of course he's heard that detail of the story, because Elle has no filter. Except apparently when it came to telling me about this turn of events. But I keep all that to myself and merely glare at Lee.

"Oh, come on. It's a _little_ funny, right? Or are we not yet at the laughing about it phase?"

"So you flew out here just to harass me?"

"Nah. I flew out here because we need to talk and you're really good at dodging me. I figured I'd be harder to ignore in person."

I have to smile at that one. I toss Lee the stack of delivery menus. "Make yourself useful and order us dinner while I go shower."

"Oh, I don't get the home-cooked meal treatment? Elle told me you cook now. Or is that only when you're trying to get into girls' pants?"

I flip Lee the bird on my way to my room.

* * *

I manage to keep Lee on other topics while we eat, but soon enough he leans back in his chair and stares intently at me.

"So. Enough dodging. We're talking about it now."

"Elle didn't already tell you everything the minute I left?" That's how our fights worked in college. Elle would end up spilling every detail to Lee, Lee would attempt to stay out of it while passive-aggressively expressing his judgment to me, I would ignore Lee and eventually work things out with Elle. Until the time we didn't manage to work things out.

"No. She only told me a little bit, the next day. Which is when I bought the plane ticket."

"She made it sound that bad?"

"No. She seemed pretty relieved, actually, compared to last week. But it also sounds like you didn't manage to cover some key points. So scratch what I said about not getting in between the two of you, because I'm done letting you guys flail around on your own. Your track record is too spectacularly bad when it comes to necessary conversations."

Awesome, Lee's jumping in. Couldn't have predicted that one. "Does Elle know you're doing this?"

"Nope. And she'll probably kill me. But watching you guys screw this up would kill me for sure, so I'll take my chances on Elle forgiving me. Plus, I'm Team Dino, remember. Getting you two straightened out sooner rather than later is in their best interests."

"Is there any chance of you ever not being completely over-involved in my life again?"

"Yes. Go back in time, don't fall for my best friend."

I snort at this. I tried and failed at not falling for Elle, and then I tried and failed at getting over her. Several times. "Fine. Tell me what you flew across the country to tell me."

I shouldn't let Lee do this. I should speak up for Elle, rather than let Lee spill her secrets. I should be telling him to stay out of it. But I've spent the past five months wondering what happened, and we have no time left to waste. I at least want to hear what it is Lee thinks I need to know.

"Give me a minute. If I'm going to break confidentiality I need to get it right."

I use the pause to retrieve beers from the refrigerator. Lee accepts his gratefully and I remind myself this triangle is as awkward for him as it is for me. We're probably all kidding ourselves pretending like him staying out of it is even a possibility. Especially now.

"Ok. So. Two basic points you need to understand. And deserve to know. First, that Elle is terrified you won't forgive her for October, and that if you stick around it will only be because of the baby. Second, that Elle was so damn close to calling you, before this all happened. But now she's afraid you're going to think she's only talking to you because of the baby."

"So she was putting off telling me about the baby, because she was afraid I'd think it was about the baby?" That wouldn't actually be the craziest bit of Elle-logic I've encountered.

"She was going to tell you. She just hadn't figured out how yet. Because of what I just said. And if she didn't manage it soon, Mickey and I had plans."

"Ah yes. Mickey mentioned. I'm so glad there are two of you meddling now."

"Don't knock Mickey. She's probably your best ally in this. And the only one of us that saw what was going on. Which brings me back to October. Maybe that's where I should have started this. With what happened in October. With what was happening even before."

I wait for Lee to go on.

"I should have seen it earlier. Like, two years earlier. You should have seen it too, although I guess you're the one who got pushed away, so you didn't get much of a chance. But _I_ should have realized."

"Realized _what_?"

"Her mom died. For four years you and I watched Elle desperately hold on to hope and then have to accept her mom was going to die anyway. And, somehow, she bounced back and kept on going like half her heart hadn't been ripped out. And five years later everything's great and then overnight it's her dad that's barely hanging on and Elle running around being brave for Brad like she's not living her worst nightmares. How didn't we see what it was doing to her?"

"I tried to help. To not have her go it alone." I would have gladly dropped everything to stay with Elle - if she'd wanted me there.

"Yeah, I know. But Elle wasn't exactly rational then and you took it personally when she didn't immediately accept your help on exactly the terms offered. You got mad and you let her push you away."

"These insights would have been really helpful two years ago."

"Yeah, well, I didn't get it either then. I mean, I got it a little—and don't pretend like I didn't try to get you two talking again, early on. But I was seeing it strictly as a you-and-Elle problem, and missing the larger _Elle_ problem. Which was her being completely traumatized and terrified about everything in her life turning to dust on her. But I guess I didn't notice her brave-face routine because she's been pulling it since we were eleven. Maybe if I'd realized how much she was still struggling with trusting anything in her life to last I could have warned you before you showed up in October."

"Before _you_ strongly hinted I should go visit Elle, you mean?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I still didn't see it then. Although, to be fair, I also didn't think you were going to start making grand declarations at her the minute you'd reconciled."

Whatever blame Lee may be putting on himself for October can't compare to my shame at having given up so easily two years ago. At not having realized Elle needed so much more patience from me. At still not having had a clue in October. I'm replaying the worst moments of our fight by the pool, and realizing how blind I was. How focused on my own hurt feelings instead of hearing what Elle was really saying.

"Anyway, Mickey's the one who saw it," Lee continues. "She saw it as soon as Elle told her what happened in October. I guess she'd already been witnessing Elle freak out all year about making plans for the future in general. So you should be thanking your lucky stars Mickey meddled, as you put it, because she's the one who finally called Elle out and got her to get help."

"Help?"

"Some kind of counseling. She hasn't told me all the details. Just that she's finally talking to someone about everything that's happened, and dealing with her trauma instead of pretending everything is fine."

"Is this what you were trying to tell me at Thanksgiving?"

"No. I didn't know any of that yet. She told me about it later, at Christmas. At Thanksgiving I just knew how guilty and panicked Elle sounded when she tried to talk about what happened with you. How lost she sounded. And I wanted you to know she wasn't intentionally avoiding you. She just really couldn't deal. But you were too stuck in your own anger to listen to me."

"I'm listening this time."

"Elle was going to talk to you at Christmas, by the way. And then you blew off dinner like a coward, and she figured you were still too mad at her."

"I lost track of time. It was too late to drive back." Yeah, I don't believe me either.

"Sure. Just like something's come up every other time there was any chance you might have to face Elle these past couple years. Total coincidence. Anyway, in January she was telling me again that she was going to call you, that she wasn't sure what she'd say but she was ready to try. But then she went radio silent all of a sudden. Ignored my messages, ducked my calls. And even when she started talking to me again, she didn't want to talk about you at all."

"Because she'd found out."

"Right. And I guess that brings us to now. And I was trying really damn hard to let you two hash this out yourselves, because you need to. But I also thought you needed to know, now, right away, as you react to this news - that she was going to call you. Before this all got so much more complicated. That this baby isn't why she's talking now."

"I should have gone to Christmas dinner."

"Uh, yeah. Or manned up at any other point in the past five months and called and told her you'd be patient, instead of your bullshit 'tell me when you're ready to take this seriously' ultimatum. Because you know she always has."

Easy for Lee to say when he's never been the one she walks away from. I don't answer him. He stares hard at me for a minute, and then his expression changes, softens.

"Come on, man. She's never not been just as crazy all-in as you are. She's just had more shit to deal with. Which she _is_ dealing with, and actually trying to work through. So cut her some slack, give her the benefit of the doubt, and just - be there."

We sit in silence for a while, staring at our beers, and then Lee looks up at me again.

"Did you see the stars?"

"The stars?"

"On Elle's shoulder blade. The tattoo. Given the present situation I'm assuming you're familiar again with her shirtless form."

I glare at him, but nod. I do remember noticing the stars.

"Christmas break a year ago. Over a year after you guys broke up. You skipped out on dinner, as usual. Elle got _really_ drunk and mopey that night, then declared I was her North Star and she was mine. And then decided we needed to make it official. Somehow she talked me into getting stars tattooed on our shoulders. So she'd know I was always there."

"There is literally nothing Elle could ask that you'd say no to, is there?"

"You're one to talk. But yeah, I agreed. If you'd been there and seen how sad she was, you would have agreed to anything too. Also, did I mention there was a lot of alcohol involved?" Lee reaches for the hem of his tee shirt and pulls it over his right shoulder, turning halfway. "Do you notice anything?"

There they are over his shoulder blade, two barely-visible blue stars. I wonder what Lee's point is, other than reminding me yet again that Elle loved him first. Sure, not the same way, I get it. But I'm not sure that being the one whose love scares her is actually the preferable position.

"It's the same tattoo Elle has. The blue stars. You're each other's guiding stars, I get it. Adorable."

"Not exactly the same. Did you count hers?" Lee ignores my sarcasm and shrugs back into his shirt.

I think back to watching Elle sleep that weekend. The memory is vivid and the remembered joy of the moment is shadowed by how quickly everything was about to go wrong. "Elle's had… three."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"We decided on the design together. Two tiny blue stars. I went first, and then Elle. Except when I saw her shoulder after, there was a third star."

"And?"

"God, you're dense. It's you. The tattoo artist started inking and suddenly Elle decided she needed _you_ there too. Even though you hadn't talked to her in over a year by then. She still wanted you there, all three of us together. She never stopped believing it was going to work out somehow, someday. She has never not taken you seriously. None of this is because of the baby. It was always going to be you."

Suddenly I burst out laughing. This is probably the least appropriate reaction, but I cannot help it. We are idiots and we have wasted so much freaking time these last few years being idiots instead of talking to each other.

"Not the reaction I expected."

"It's just… fitting. She could have called and shared this sentiment with me, but instead she told _you_ and made a secret grand gesture I couldn't possibly know about."

"Would you have picked up, if she'd called?"

"Probably." I was done being angry by then. "Why didn't you tell me? Then, I mean."

"Because it wasn't my place to tell. And because back then you'd change the subject any time I mentioned Elle."

"But today it's your place to tell?"

"Like I said, circumstances have changed. The stakes have changed. And trying to stay out of it hasn't been working anyway. Although the rest of all this backstory you're going to need to get from Elle. But I just needed you to understand what she's been making herself crazy worrying about. That you'd think she'd only reached out because of the baby."

"How could she think that?"

"It didn't cross your mind, not even a little?"

Lee's right. I hate that he is, but I can't say I haven't at least considered whether Elle would ever have called if she weren't pregnant. How the conversation would have gone if we'd run into each other this weekend and Elle weren't pregnant.

"Maybe a little." I admit.

"Which is why I'm here. Because I need you to know how wildly wrong that is."

I finish the last of my beer and idly pick at a tear in the label.

"There was another thing you said you wanted me to know, earlier. That Elle is afraid I won't forgive her for October. Does she… really think that?"

"Yeah. Or at least she did before this weekend. I don't know now."

So that's the first item for discussion, then. Telling Elle she's not the one who needs to be forgiven for October and its aftermath. I should have heard what she was saying. I should have sucked up my pride and called her afterward. I should have listened when Lee tried to talk sense into me.

"Are you going to tell Elle I told you all this?" Lee's voice interrupts the thoughts I'd started getting lost in.

"Should I? Keeping more secrets seems like the opposite of what we need. But she's not going to like this."

"Yeah, well, if you do tell her, tell her I did it for Dino. But I leave it up to you."

"Thanks for telling me, though. I did need to hear it. And I know none of this is easy for you."

"Whatever. I still owe you for being such a dick about you two at first."

I smile ruefully. "Fair."

"Ok, taking off my Uncle Lee—don't give me that look—hat and my Elle's best friend hat, putting on my brother hat. Which is way too many hats, but I'm learning to juggle. How are you with all this?"

Aha, an appearance by Lee, my brother, as opposed to Lee, my runaway-soulmate's confidante. Sometimes I wonder what our relationship would be like if I'd never fallen for Elle. But probably worse, actually. For all the tensions created by our triangle, Elle's also forced us to grow up and get along. It's not like I was the best brother to Lee before Elle happened.

"So you can tell Elle?"

"Only if you tell me stuff she desperately needs to know and then fail to tell her for months. That's my secret-spilling threshold, apparently. But seriously, no, I'm not asking for Elle. I told you, this is the brother part of the conversation. So, again I ask, where are _you_ with all of this?"

"I'm… in a lot of places right now."

"Good places? Bad places?"

"Mostly the former. But also a lot of confusing places."

"You're going to make this like pulling teeth, aren't you? Okay, so I'll cut to the chase. Are you still in love with her?"

"What do you think?"

"I know what I think. I'm just wondering if you've admitted it to yourself yet, or if you're still mad about October."

"Both. Although now most of that anger is directed at me."

"Progress. Does the baby change any of that?"

"How can it not? I mean, I know I'm supposed to say that the baby changes nothing. But of course it does. It doesn't change how I feel about Elle. At all. But it changes the stakes. I'd gotten pretty good at getting on with my life despite never getting over her, and now that's not an option. Or at least, not an option I'm willing to entertain. And as you like to remind me, our track record isn't great. So we need to get it right this time, and we need to not waste another two years. So I guess the baby makes everything… more important."

"For the record, I don't doubt you will get it right. And I'll be glad for it."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Lee?"

"Come on. You know the only thing worse for me than you guys together is you guys apart."

"Pretty sure that's a change of heart on your part."

"Not a terribly recent one. I mean, yeah, if you two could possibly have done me the favor of falling for literally anyone else on the planet, that would have been a hell of a lot easier. Anyone else. Anyone at all. But, you didn't. So given that, I need you guys to work this out. And now Dino needs you to work this out."

"Please, stop calling them that. It's a terrible name."

"We'll win you over. And "it" sounds way worse. Did Elle show you the pictures?"

"Yeah." I can't help but grin.

"Crazy, right? That there's like a miniature person in there, just hanging out and leeching nutrients from her blood? It's like a horror movie. But also amazing."

"Not the comparison I would have gone for, but okay." We can agree on the amazing part.

"And congratulations, man. I mean, I know it's all weird right now, but this is going to be awesome. Assuming you guys can avoid being idiots. But I'll be there to keep that from happening."

"Thanks. We need you on our side." Much as it pains me to admit.

"And remember, Lee is a classic name that any child would be proud to have."

"Nice try. Still not happening."

"I'm just getting started. But you're happy about the baby, yeah?"

"Thrilled with a side of terrified."

"Sounds about right. Make sure Elle knows about the thrilled part, not just the terrified part."

"I'm working on it."

"Ok, enough heartfelt sentiment. I have a thesis to edit. You're going to tell me you have work to do, but really you're going to go send Elle some kind of schmoopy text, which I absolutely do not need to hear about. My work here is done, so I'm gonna book that return flight for tomorrow. Good talk?"

"Good talk."


	19. Telephonic Progress

_**A/N:**_ _Hopping back a day compared to the end of Chapter 18. We're back to Elle and back to Sunday night - before Lee and Noah have talked._

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

As on most Sunday afternoons, I head home to see Dad and Brad. I spend the drive there debating whether to tell Dad I've seen Noah this weekend. On the one hand, it will put an end to his increasingly relentless hounding about when I'm going to tell Noah. On the other hand, that just means Dad will move on to hounding me about our plans, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that. I finally decide I've had enough of keeping secrets.

I do pick my moment carefully. I wait until dinner, after we've polished off the very cheesy lasagna I made and have moved on to ice cream, figuring that Brad's presence and the beginnings of a food coma will both make for a mellower Dad. I try to think of a casual way to bring it up, but eventually give in and bite the bullet.

"So, ah, I saw Noah yesterday."

Dad immediately puts down his spoon and stares at me, but it's Brad who jumps in first.

"Really? Is he home? Can I go see him?" Trust Brad to care not at all about what this means for me and the Dino situation. Brad has long considered Noah the coolest person he knows, and I'm pretty sure half of his excitement upon learning about the baby had to do with assuming it would mean Noah hanging out here again.

"No, he was just on campus for a sports thing. With his students. I think he's on his way back now."

"You didn't tell me Noah was coming to visit." Dad is still giving me the laser stare and I suddenly find my ice cream fascinating to look down at.

"I didn't know ahead of time. We just… ran into each other."

"I see. And did you _talk_?"

I know what Dad is really asking. "Yes. I told him about... the baby. And we talked for a little while. Until he had to go back to his students." It's true I told Noah about the baby. No need to mention it was only after he stumbled upon the news himself.

I can tell Dad has a hundred questions ready to go, but Brad beats him to it again. "So is he coming back? He's going to move here now, right? Do you think he would coach my team when he moves back?"

Okay, so _some_ of those questions are the same ones Dad wants answered.

"It's been one day, guys. We didn't get to all the details. And you play baseball, Brad. That's a completely different sport."

"Speaking of, Brad, weren't you supposed to wash your practice gear tonight? Why don't you go do that while Elle and I do the dishes." It is very much not a question the way Dad says it. Apparently it's time for some solo interrogation.

Brad blithely goes off to the laundry room after making me promise to at least _ask_ Noah if he would coach his baseball team. Noah will love to hear that Brad's hero worship continues unabated.

I start gathering the plates, but Dad gently puts a hand on my arm.

"Sit, Elle. The dishes can wait."

I sit back down and refill my iced tea, wishing it were something a bit stronger.

"So, you've told Noah. And how did he take it?"

An excellent question that I haven't yet fully thought through myself. "Better than I feared, I guess. I mean, really shocked. And confused. But he said he thinks we can… work this out." I don't really want to go into all the details with Dad. The tender moments and the uncomfortable moments and then that kiss.

"Mmmmhmmm. You'd better. And you'd better start working on some of those other questions Brad had."

"Yes, Dad. I know. We know. And he's coming back this weekend so we can have more of those conversations."

"So I should call June and set up family lunch for next Sunday?"

"No! God, Dad, no, not yet. Please, no family lunch. We're not quite at that point."

Dad's smile is knowing and I suspect he suggested the lunch mostly to mess with me. "Okay, maybe not this weekend. But soon I'm going to run out of vague answers when June asks what you're up to and why they haven't seen you in so long."

"I know. I promise. And Noah is after me to tell June, too."

"Of course. Because June is going to be thrilled."

"But not Matthew?" Not to mention, you, Dad. Is it just June who's going to see the bright side?

"Honey, all of us are going to be thrilled to have a grandchild. We'll just be happier once we know you two are happy about it."

"Yeah, me too. So maybe give us a little time to figure out our plan, and then we can break the news."

"Not too long. You don't need everything figured out. Nobody ever has a complete plan for something like this. You just need to both want to make it work."

"Yes, Dad. I know. But it's been one day. Can we have this conversation next week?"

"Oh, I promise we'll be having this conversation again next week. And as many weeks as it takes."

"You're not going to… show up at Noah's door or anything, are you?"

"Not _this_ week."

"Well that's a terrifyingly narrow denial."

Dad just smiles and pats my arm again. "Come on, let's get to those dishes."

We chat about easier topics while we clean up, about classes and work and Brad's baseball schedule. I hear my phone buzz a few times, and once we're done I go to check it. It's Noah, finally.

 _Headed back._

 _Thanks for the pictures. Tell Mickey thanks but no thanks on naming my child Dino._

 _Can I call you tomorrow night?_

 _Would have called you tonight but stuck on bus full of nosy students. Not much I want to tell you that they need to hear._

Noah was never one for overly sappy texts. I'll settle for assuming that last one was intended at least a little bit cheekily.

 _You can always call. But if it's after ten I'll probably be asleep._

Apparently Noah is still on his phone, because he replies immediately.

 _10? Do I have the wrong number?_

 _Funny. You try growing a whole new person, see how much energy you have._

 _Nah. I leave it to you. One is enough for us to deal with._

 _Seriously._

 _Ok, gotta get to studying and then those ten hours of sleep. Dino says good night even if you keep dissing its name._

I had written and deleted "Dino sends its love" a couple times before falling back on the safer option.

 _you too_

A few minutes later my phone buzzes again. Noah has managed to find a gif of a snoring cartoon dinosaur. I'm calling this one a win. Dad sees me laughing at my phone and smiles to himself.

Dad doesn't mention Noah again while we hang out after dinner, but he gives me an extra-tight hug as I'm leaving and says "Telling Noah was a big step. I know you'll figure out the rest of it. And if you do ever need me to go scare sense into him, you just say the word. But you're not going to need to."

I drive back to my apartment feeling distinctly more relaxed than I'd driven over.

* * *

Noah doesn't end up calling on Monday; instead, I get an apologetic message that afternoon saying something's come up and promising to call Tuesday. Mickey tells me not to read anything worrisome into it, and I'm further reassured when another sleeping dinosaur cartoon shows up at 10 p.m. on the dot. I'm not even sure where he's finding these.

Tuesday morning, Mickey compliments my outfit, and I realize that for the first time in ages I'm not hiding behind a bulky jacket or baggy sweater. I'm wearing a long clingy top over my favorite pair of yoga pants, and I look distinctly pregnant. And damn cute, Mickey says. Somehow the idea of all my classmates knowing no longer feels as overwhelming. The most important person finally knows, so everyone else might as well too. Well, maybe not June and Matthew, at least not quite yet - and I'm making Noah share that announcement. But thankfully the Flynns don't tend to hang out in the UCLA chemistry buildings or student center, so the tell-tale bump and I can walk around freely.

Of course, I should have realized that finally looking unambiguously, unmistakably pregnant is going to invite a lot of questions along with the congratulations. After a couple repeats of the same awkward conversation, I discover that responding to congratulations with "Thanks! We're very excited!" seems to be enough to satisfy most people that there is a father involved and avoid further questions. For the more persistent, the ones nosy enough to point out they had no idea I was even seeing anyone, I end up vaguely referencing a boyfriend in San Francisco I've been dating forever. Which is… truth-adjacent, at least at the level of detail I'm willing to provide to casual acquaintances. And then I do my best to change the subject before they start asking if I'm moving there and if we're getting married.

In the afternoon I get a message from Noah asking if nine would be too late to call, and I tell him it would not. By a quarter of nine I am in my room, trying not to stare too hard at my phone as I will it to ring. It seems impossible to think that we haven't actually done this, spoken on the phone, in well over two years. Not since the final furious hangup of the breakup. I've only recently started to understand how things got so hostile so fast. How I poured all my anger and fear about Dad into fighting with Noah, until one day there just wasn't another call. My therapist tells me it's classic, people blowing up relationships after trauma. Knowing that doesn't actually reduce the guilt, but maybe at some point I'll be able to tell Noah it was never about him. And then the phone rings and I startle as though I hadn't just been waiting for it to do exactly that.

It's awkward, at first. We exchange hellos. Noah apologizes for not having been able to call Monday night - something about a last minute school event. He asks how I'm doing. We trade small talk about what we've been up to since Saturday. And then we slowly relax. We remember how to talk to each other, how to just hang out on the phone. We don't discuss the pregnancy or the state of our relationship, we just trade stories about work and school and funny things we saw. It's not that I'm avoiding bringing up serious topics, but I've missed this part too, the rambling calls about our days.

I'm sprawled in my office chair, one leg tucked under me, idly spinning myself as Noah tells me about a book he's just finished, and suddenly I yelp as my chair slides and I spin right into my dresser.

"Elle?" Noah asks.

"It's nothing. Just… whacked my leg on something."

He laughs. "Are you doing the spinning again? One scar isn't enough?"

Because of course he knows exactly what just happened. Because he's teased me a hundred times about my inability to sit still while talking on the phone.

"Maybe."

"I've missed listening to you whirl around your room while we talk."

He says it jokingly, but my eyes fill with tears. And I know everything makes me cry right now, but I don't think it's the hormones this time. For three years we talked like this almost every night not spent together. Sometimes endless conversations and sometimes just a quick goodnight. Sometimes with the video on, sometimes just Noah's voice in my ear. And then he was gone.

"Elle?" I don't know if he's heard the change in my breathing or is just concerned that I haven't replied.

Maybe it's time for the real conversation. Maybe it will be easier on the phone, not having to face him. I take a few deep breaths to get the tears in check.

"Noah- I'm sorry. For not calling. After our weekend, and then, for so long. For making us lose all this time. And all the time before. The years. I don't know why I let it go so long." The words come pouring out. Noah tries to interject, but I'm afraid if I stop I'll lose my nerve. "I don't know how it got so bad back then. I kept thinking I just needed a little more time, a little more stability with Dad, and then I'd call you and we'd realize how stupid we were being, but I never managed it. And then it just seemed… too late. And I've missed this so much. Talking to you. And I just wanted to tell you that, and how sorry I am, for causing all this." I am a sobbing mess now and I'm glad Noah isn't here to see it.

" _Elle_. Please. Slow down a second." Noah finally manages to interrupt. "You didn't cause all this. Not alone. And I thought maybe we'd save these conversations for in person, but if we're doing this now, I have apologies to make too. I should have listened to you better, in October. I was confused and then I was hurt and somehow I didn't hear half of what you were saying. But now I've been replaying all of it and I'm just so sorry. And two years ago - God, Elle, I don't know how we let it get so bad either. But when I said in October that those years were on you, I wish I could take that back."

"Why? It was true."

"No, it wasn't. Maybe I thought it was then, but it never was." Noah pauses. "I hate doing this over the phone. I don't want to _not_ have this conversation. I just wish you were here."

"Yeah. Maybe we should… table this. Until you're here. But I just needed to get this out. How sorry I am for freaking out and pushing you away and creating this mess."

I hear Noah hesitate. "We'll talk about it more, when I get there. But for tonight - if you're blaming everything this year on you, or if you think I believe that - please don't." I think I hear him pacing. Noah only gets restless on the phone when he's upset, unlike my perpetual motion that only stops when things get bad. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since Saturday. We both created this mess. You don't need to apologize. Or maybe we both do. But I'm not mad at you, if that's what you think."

"How could you not be?"

"Even if I were, or had been, what would the point be, now? It would just be more time wasted. I don't want to be mad at you. So I'm just not going to be. And hopefully you can feel the same about all the ways I screwed this up." He's definitely pacing now, and his voice is raw.

He makes it sound so simple, and maybe it is. That maybe we can just… decide not to be angry. "Okay."

"Okay?" Noah laughs, and I can't help but do the same. "Well, that was easier than I expected. We should have tried the 'let's just not be mad anymore' option years ago."

"Yeah, well, we were idiots. And we're a little more… motivated now."

We're both silent for a while. I wonder whether to tell Noah more. Even if he seems to want to just move on from October, I still need him to understand. To know I was never not taking him seriously. Not then, not two years ago. But maybe this is enough for tonight.

Noah is the first to break the silence. "So, we should figure out this weekend. Because I really would rather have these conversations in person. Would it be okay if I flew down Saturday morning? I'd been hoping to leave Friday, but now the dean is hosting a recruiting reception and apparently the football staff skipping is not an option."

"I could come up, instead." I say impulsively. I hadn't thought about it until now, but suddenly I want to see where Noah's been these past two years. "How late do you think the reception will go? I don't have Friday afternoon classes, so I could drive and be there after you're done."

"That's a crazy drive alone. Not to mention back again."

"I don't mind. I'd like to see this school. Lee claims it's more ridiculous than Country Day, which seems impossible."

"Different ridiculous, maybe. And I like the idea of showing you around here, but not the you driving part. If I say I'll buy you a plane ticket, can we skip the whole argument about how it's too much and jump ahead to when you just let me do it?"

I laugh. It's possible we had that discussion a time or ten during Noah's freshman year at Harvard. And it is a really long drive.

"Fine. Tell me how late you'll be busy Friday and I'll tell you which flight I want."

Suddenly another logistical question occurs to me. Am I… staying with Noah? I have no idea if he's living on his own or with roommates, or if there's a place for me to sleep other than with him. Which, don't get me wrong, is where I'd like to end up. But we've done enough to prove Lee's point about not getting naked before we talk. I guess it has to be asked.

"Hey, uh, I know we haven't really talked about everything yet. And I guess I just invited myself over, but I wasn't assuming- "

"Are you asking if you can stay with me?" Noah chuckles.

Well, maybe more like asking if I _should_ stay with him. "Sort of."

"And you think I'd ever disagree? You can send me to sleep on the couch if you want, but of course stay here."

Not so much a question of what I want. More a question of whether what I want is a good idea. And I'm glad this isn't a video call and Noah can't see me blush. "Thanks. We can, ah, figure out the details when I get there, I guess."

There's an awkward pause, and then Noah speaks up again.

"It's a little past ten. Is this when you turn into a pumpkin?"

"I took a nap this afternoon, I can probably survive a little longer." Noah laughs at this. "Yes, I know, it's so hilarious. Mock the tired pregnant lady."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mock. It's just - the traditional end to our calls was me pointing out I had to be awake at six a.m. for practice and you trying to convince me I didn't actually need to go to sleep yet. And then I'd wake up and see messages from you sent at three in the morning. Or, my personal favorite, when I'd wake up and you'd _still be awake_."

"You know who else thinks this karmic comeuppance as to my sleeping habits is hilarious? _My dad_. So before you keep going, ask yourself if that's really who you want to remind me of."

Noah laughs harder. "Point made. I'm done, I promise."

"I told him, by the way."

"Him - your dad? About… seeing me?"

"Yeah. We had dinner on Sunday. And Brad, too. You're still Brad's idol, by the way. I'm supposed to ask you if you'll coach his baseball team if you move back here." I realize too late that the topic of where Noah will live next year is maybe one he and I should discuss before I tell him Brad expects him to move here.

"Brad knows I've never played baseball, right?"

"Unclear. You'll have to explain that to him. But bear in mind you'll be crushing his hopes and dreams."

"I've missed that kid." Noah pauses. "So, your dad knows I know? How many days until he shows up here?"

"He promised not _this_ week."

"So, no pressure at all for this weekend's discussions." Noah chuckles wryly.

"To be fair to him, he also said we don't need to have it all figured out. Just to… both be happy about whatever we're doing."

"Right now I'm happy we're talking."

"Yeah, me too. We should… keep on talking." But then a yawn escapes before I can stifle it, and Noah laughs.

"I'll take that as my signal to let you get some sleep. Both of you. But we'll keep talking, soon."

If this were one of all those goodnight calls years ago, this would be the part when I say "Love you." But after so long, I'd rather say it in person first. So instead there's an awkward pause, and then I just wish him good night.

I miss Noah as soon as the phone is down, but by the time I get myself into pajamas and brush my teeth there's a message waiting. No cartoon dinosaur this time; instead, it's a picture of us that I recognize instantly. We're at Lee's and my twentieth birthday party, the one Noah and I had flown back for from our summer jobs in Boston, and we are curled up asleep on a couch, victims of jet lag. Lee took the picture to make fun of me for falling asleep at my own party, but I'd loved it so much I'd made him send it to me. Apparently Noah kept a copy too.

Suddenly waiting to say it in person just seems like more wasted time. So before I can second guess myself, I call Noah back. He's laughing as he picks up, then goes silent when I just blurt out "I love you." Finally he laughs again. "I knew I'd kept that picture for a reason. I love you too, dork. But let's talk about that when you're not four hundred miles away and falling asleep."

* * *

 **A/N:** Wow, there's been a serious uptick in visitors since the sequel was announced! I guess that's my deadline... wrap up this saga before the actual sequel blows up my timeline. Wonder if we should finally ask FFN to create a The Kissing Booth category under Movies, rather than hiding here in Books...


	20. Mystery Girl

_**(Noah)**_

Things feel different after our call. I breathe a little easier. We've still got miles to go, but just the fact that Elle has started talking, has volunteered some of the things Lee was so concerned she might never manage to tell me, reassures me. I let myself dwell on the unexpected but welcome postscript to our call, on the determination in Elle's voice when she told me she loved me. I try not to cringe remembering my response, at having frozen and fallen back on humor to cover my shock. Trust Elle to always knock me off balance when I least expect it.

We talk again briefly the next night, and the next. These calls don't get serious, and that's fine. The conversations we need next aren't the kind I want to have on the phone, especially not when Elle will be here, actually here, so soon. Instead we catch up, we trade stories. A few times we even mention the old days without getting dragged down by bitterness. It had been far too long since Elle's voice was the last thing I heard before falling asleep, and I welcome its return.

Lee calls me once, too. He's comically awkward as he attempts to ask how I'm feeling and how I'm processing all of this without passing on any further information from Elle. He's trying really hard to be just my brother when he talks to me and just her friend when he talks to Elle, and I love him for it.

Soon enough the week has passed and it's Friday. There's no team workout this morning, so instead I take a long run to clear my head. Before heading to campus I make sure my apartment is respectably neat, still not quite believing that Elle will be here tonight. A week ago I was packing my bag for the tournament trip and dreading a weekend of constantly looking over my shoulder, fearing Elle might appear. Today I'm constantly looking at my watch, impatient for Elle to arrive.

* * *

My friend and fellow teacher Adam finds me as the recruiting reception winds down.

"A bunch of us are heading out for drinks after. You in?"

"Not tonight. I've got plans."

"Really. You gonna tell me more?" Adam's always trying to set me up with friends of his, to no success of late.

"Nope." I check my phone again, waiting to hear from Elle that her flight has landed.

"And will we see you Saturday for Parker's birthday?"

"Maybe." If Elle wants to meet my friends.

"Or maybe what? You feeling particularly confident about tonight?"

"It's not a first date. Let's leave it at that."

"How about no, let's _not_ leave it at that. I've been trying to get you back in the game all year, and now you're not going to tell me about your mystery girl?"

"Correct." I smirk at Adam's frustration, and finally my phone buzzes. Elle has not only landed, she's already in an Uber headed to my place, which gives me about thirty minutes to get home. "And that's my signal to get out of here. You want to make a last loop around the room so the dean's happy?"

Adam doesn't drop the topic so easily, though, peppering me with questions about my so-called mystery girl as we make our way out of the reception and back to our cars. Finally I take pity on his curiosity. He's bound to find out soon anyway.

"Look, it's not a mystery girl. I've mentioned Elle, right?"

Adam looks briefly confused, then his eyes widen. "The one from high school? Your brother's friend that crushed your heart? The one we're not supposed to ask about even though she's in like half your college pictures? _THAT_ Elle?"

For the record, Lee running his mouth when he visited last spring is to blame for most of what Adam knows about Elle, including the phrase "crushed your heart." I would have put it way less melodramatically. Adam hasn't yet heard about October, let alone the current situation. It occurs to me there will be a lot of explanations required if we do make an appearance at that birthday party.

"The one and only."

"Whoa. Well, based on your smile when that message came in, I'm going to assume there've been some developments on that front you've been keeping from me."

"You could say that."

"So I can follow you home now and meet her, right? The legendary Elle Evans?"

"Absolutely not."

"Tomorrow at the party?"

"Told you - maybe."

"You're killing me."

"You'll live. But for now, scram. And try and keep this to yourself for once." Adam's a good friend, but he ranks up there with Lee on the gossip front.

* * *

I barely make it home before Elle arrives. The reception had been formal and I'd been hoping to change into something more comfortable, but I've only managed to ditch my blazer and tie by the time I hear a knock. I open the door and there she is, wearing jeans and a deep blue sweater that drapes not at all subtly around her belly. It's going to take at least another few times before seeing Elle pregnant doesn't leave me speechless. We grin at each other, and then all of a sudden Elle wraps her arms around me and bursts into tears.

"Shell? Is this pregnancy crying or actual crying? Because we've got to stop hanging out in doorways with you sobbing."

She laughs. "Just the hormones this time. I promise. Sometimes it's from being happy. Give me a second. I'll be fine."

As long as she's not actually distraught, I am more than happy to let her cling. "Come on, get inside before my neighbors get concerned. Did you have dinner already? Do you want anything?"

"I did, but I could probably use a snack."

Information I will not be sharing with Elle: the fact that Mickey sent a message this morning warning me that Elle has been extra-weepy lately and that it's usually a sign she's hungry.

Five minutes later Elle looks much calmer as she finishes a yogurt and waits for her tea to cool off. Remind me to thank Mickey for the intel. We're sitting at my kitchen table and I take a minute just to watch Elle and enjoy seeing her here. Until tonight this was the only place I've ever lived with no memories of Elle associated. That was a relief back when things were so bad between us, but I'm glad to change it now.

"You look fancy," she comments, gesturing at my outfit. "I feel underdressed now."

"Had to impress the prospective students and their parents, and then you got here before I could finish changing. But I don't know what you're talking about, because you look amazing."

"Is this from Mickey's secret guide to keeping pregnant Elle happy? Feed me and flatter me?"

I choke on my drink a bit. "She _told_ you she was sending that? But no, Mickey said nothing about flattery. Which it wasn't. You really do look amazing."

"Oh yeah, Mickey promised no meddling without my knowledge. We had a whole heart to heart about it. It was great."

So that settles that. I have to tell Elle about Lee's visit, and preferably in a way that doesn't leave her furious at both of us.

"I wore this to class this morning, by the way." Elle comments.

"Yeah?" I'm not sure where she's going with this.

"Mickey was right last weekend when she claimed I'd been hiding behind jackets and bulky sweaters. But not this week."

Ah. "So you've told your classmates?"

"More like I let the belly do the telling. Did you know people ask a lot of nosy questions when you suddenly turn up pregnant?"

"I can imagine. Dare I ask what you've been telling them?"

"Vague references to a boyfriend in San Francisco. They don't need the whole story."

"Is that so far off from the truth?"

Elle smiles slightly. "Seems a bit like overstating and understating all at the same time."

I return her smile but keep quiet. As long as Elle's here and not shutting me out, I don't care what label she's using for me, and I'm certainly not going to press her on it. Whatever she wants to tell people that doesn't make her freak out is fine with me. For now.

"Some of them had a lot of other questions, too." She admits.

"Questions like the ones we should start talking about?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, I had a few things I wanted to get out of the way first. Things that aren't up for debate." I give Elle a pointed look.

Elle raises an eyebrow but lets me go on. She may not like these, but they need saying.

"One, money. We always danced around the issue but we need to talk about it this time. You know there's a trust fund. This kid will be a beneficiary when they're old enough. I have access to some of my share already, and the rest this fall. Whatever happens with us, can we please just agree you'll let me contribute without arguing about it every time? It's not about whether you need it or your independence, it's just what's right. We can figure out the details later, I just needed to put this out there."

I'm relieved to see Elle smiling wryly instead of glaring as I'd expected.

"Lee predicted you'd give me this speech."

Probably because Lee and I have each had way too many arguments with Elle about her insistence on always paying her own way. Which is fine when we're talking about dinners or concert tickets, but not here. At some point I'm hoping it will become a moot point, but who knows how long convincing Elle to take that step will take.

"You can relax," Elle continues. "We're not going to argue over it. Your family's ridiculous money is what it is. I'm not going to turn down help to make a point."

"It's not 'help.' It's not something optional I'm doing to be nice. It's my responsibility."

"Yes. Fine. Poor choice of words. But the point is, I'm agreeing with you. So what's next on your list of things you don't want to debate?"

The next one should be laughably obvious, but the last two times I'd mentioned similar intentions didn't turn out so well.

"As much as I hate to bring this up, given our history… I need to know where you plan to live after graduation. So I can also move there." I pause to gauge her reaction before going on.

Elle flushes and looks down at her mug. "You can stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to freak out and run away. I assumed you'd want to be there. And I want you to be. And not just because of the baby. _I_ want you to be there. So don't worry, I'm not going to argue with you on this one either. But I _do_ want to talk about… the times I freaked out. I still owe you some explanations."

"Do you want to talk about it now? Because I think there's something I need to tell you first. And maybe we could go sit somewhere more comfortable than this table before we launch into serious discussions."

"Are we done with your list of undebatable points?"

"For now, yes. Wait, one more - we need to agree on a temporary name that isn't Dino."

"Nice try. You hear that, Dino? Your dad's hilarious."

It was worth a shot. And at least she agreed to the important two.

* * *

Elle seems to want to talk about October and the breakup two years ago, and I want to come clean about Lee's visit before she does that. I move us over to the couch and smile when she immediately claims the gray fleece blanket that had been draped across the back of it.

"You still keep your place too cold. And this is mine, by the way." Elle comments. She's mostly right; the blanket's always lived at my place but I did buy it to end her whining about Massachusetts winters.

"Perhaps we can arrange a trade. This blanket for that hoodie you were wearing last weekend."

"Never." Elle laughs, then looks more serious. "I wanted to talk to you about something. That has a lot to do with how I behaved in October. And probably also way back when we broke up."

"Wait, Elle - before you do that, there's something I need to admit. That I don't think you're going to like, but I don't want any secrets between us."

"I don't care who you dated after the breakup." Elle kind of mutters it, not looking at me.

"What? No, that's not it at all. It's something more recent." Elle's eyebrows rise. "Elle! Still not that. Good grief, at some point we need to discuss your assumptions about my social life. Or maybe I'll just introduce you to my friend Adam and he can complain to you about how boring I am. But what I need to tell you has nothing to do with that."

Elle waits for me to go on.

"Lee came to see me. This week. And please don't hate him for this, or me for letting him, but he told me some stuff that probably he was supposed to keep to himself. Only because he thought it might help."

"Lee came to visit? When?"

"He was here by the time I got back on Sunday night."

"So literally immediately after the call when I told him not to meddle, he flew across the country to meddle. I'm going to kill him." Elle's muttering to herself more so than directing her comments to me.

"He said you'd say that. Elle, he meant well. He knew you'd be furious at him if you found out, but he did it anyway because he was so desperate to help."

"So why are you telling me?"

"Because I don't want any secrets. Because I want you to know what we talked about."

"Alright. Tell me." Her voice is tense, but at the same time she scoots closer to me on the couch and rests her head on my shoulder. I take that as an invitation to wrap my arm around her.

I tell her the basics. That Lee wanted me to know she'd been so close to calling, before the news. Wanted me to understand her fear that I would never forgive her for running away. Her fear that I'd reconcile only for the baby, or that I'd think she was doing that. And, finally, Lee's guilt that he never saw her trauma for what it was, and that it was newcomer Mickey, not Elle's oldest and supposedly closest friend, who'd figured it out. And my own guilt at missing it, and at being too hurt and too stubborn to reach out after she left.

Elle stays quiet through it all.

"He did it because he loves us, Elle. He was afraid you wouldn't ever manage to tell me, or that I wouldn't give you the chance to, and he said he'd rather take a chance on you never forgiving him than watch us screw this up if we couldn't manage to be honest."

Elle still doesn't say anything. I wait, holding her just slightly tighter and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Finally she speaks.

"I am really, really angry at Lee. And also grateful, all at the same time. And glad you told me. But also not sure where I go from here. When you already know some of what I wanted to tell you. But maybe not the way I would have told you."

"So tell me what _you_ wanted to tell me. The way you wanted to say it. I only know what Lee thinks."

"Except he's cut me off at the pass. All week I've been trying to work out what to tell you, and now Lee's just taken the decision away from me."

Elle's angrier than I anticipated, and I realize it's not just about the confidences broken. It's also about Lee not trusting her to manage this herself. And I can't let all that blame rest on him.

"Elle - you're right to be furious. But don't put it all on Lee. I could have told him to stop, to keep your secrets to himself. And I didn't. Even though I knew you'd hate this. Because I was still so confused and I couldn't say no to any chance of understanding what happened. So don't only blame Lee. I let him do it."

"Yeah, well, you're in luck. I don't feel like being mad at you right now. We have enough else to deal with. And you wanting to understand - I was the one who put you in that position. So I'm not going to hold it against you. But Lee - Lee's going to hear about this one."

"I'm also supposed to tell you he did it for Dino. If that helps. To make us finally get it right for Dino's sake. He's taking this uncle thing _very_ seriously." I say it with as straight a face as possible, and I can see Elle's lips twitch before she finally gives in and laughs.

"Oh my God, he so is. And did he give you that speech about how he's Team Dino now?"

"Yup." We're both laughing now, and I can see Elle's anger receding. I'm sure she'll still let Lee have it the next time they talk, but at least she and I can move on to our own conversations now.

"So, now you know what Lee told me. Why don't you tell me what _you_ wanted to tell me?"


	21. Explanations and Ice Cream

_Previously:_ "So, now you know what Lee told me. Why don't you tell me what _you_ wanted to tell me?"

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

I try to put aside my frustration at Lee and refocus on everything I'd wanted to tell Noah. It had seemed like an overwhelming conversation to initiate when I was thinking about it this week, but now that I'm here, now that Noah has me tucked against him, the words come more easily than I expected. And if I'm honest, knowing that Noah has already heard some of it from Lee, that the broad brushstrokes are already out there, ends up helping. So maybe it won't be all yelling when I call Lee out for his meddling.

I start with October. With the panic that had come over me when our wholly unexpected, thrilling new beginning suddenly started feeling like one more thing that might fall apart and leave me shattered. The panic that Noah was going to to rearrange everything for me and I wouldn't live up to it. The shame about how I could feel so scared when he was so confident. The literal, physical, heart-racing, breath-stealing panic that sent me running.

I tell him about the letters I wrote and never sent those first few weeks. Those attempts to explain that I could never get sounding right because I didn't actually have a good explanation to give. I tell him about the hours I stared at my phone and wondered if maybe I should just call and fake a confident voice and tell him I was ready to talk and ready to try this. Even though I knew I wasn't.

I tell him about finally telling Mickey what had happened. About Mickey's gentle suggestion that my panic might be of broader scope and longer history than just that weekend or just Noah. About the realization that Mickey was right about how hard Dad's accident had hit me and how long I'd failed to deal with those fears and anxieties.

Noah's been trying to interrupt all through my rambling narrative and for the most part I've brushed him off, plowing forward with what I need to say, but he doesn't let me this time.

"I never should have left. After the accident. I should have stayed and seen what was happening to you and not... let all this happen the way it did."

"It wasn't up to you. I was the one telling you to go back. I wish you hadn't left the way you did. Without warning, in the middle of the fight. Before I'd even fully realized we were in a fight. But I don't think it would have gone much differently anyway. I still would have insisted you go back to Harvard. I still wouldn't have let you stay."

"We could have been together even after I'd gone back. Not broken up, I mean. That's another apology I owe you. For making it so all or nothing. For being so angry that you didn't want me to stay that I didn't bother asking how you _did_ want me to help. There's no reason we couldn't have survived being long distance again, at least until I graduated. I don't know why I couldn't see that, then. And maybe then I would have realized what you were going through."

"And I probably still would have pushed you away. We had all those calls after you left, and I escalated the fight as much as you did. I was so angry and scared about Dad and fighting with you was just... a relief. Even if you hadn't started out angry, I would have kept on pushing and pushing at you until you were, until I had someone to vent all my rage at. Not that I realized that's what I was doing, then."

And then I tell Noah about the counselor I've been seeing. About starting to piece together the cumulative effects of losing Mom, of almost losing Dad, of keeping everything together for Brad. About starting to understand and master the fears that had been driving me. About working on facing the idea of making plans for the future without always assuming the worst. And I tell him it's something we'll keep talking about. That it's not something I'm all the way over, but that I'm done denying it.

And then I hesitate, because I've reached the part of the story when I most failed him, but I make myself press forward.

I tell Noah about January, when Mickey made me acknowledge the increasingly obvious and take that pregnancy test. When all the panic came rushing back and I couldn't face calling him for fear of the worst-case scenarios that were crowding out every other thought in my brain. That Noah would never forgive me for October. Worse yet, that Noah would never forgive me for October, but would still try to reconcile, only for the baby. Or that Noah would claim to forgive me and say all the right things and propose and I'd never, ever be sure it wasn't just for the baby. Or that this baby would instead derail any chance of reconciliation. That Noah would never believe I would have reached out without this news. And I really don't have a better explanation for my two months of silence than all those paralyzing fears.

Noah tries to interrupt again, but I shake my head and give him a pleading look as I forge on. The arm he'd wrapped around me earlier has slowly drifted to let his hand curve over my belly and I let the warm weight of that hand remind me that we are here now, together, and that none of those worst cases have come to pass.

I tell him about the month spent barely acknowledging the reality of the pregnancy, and then the month of slowly getting my act together. And all the while Mickey nudging me daily, gently at first and then exasperatedly, to just tell him. Then Dad joining that chorus. And then Lee, just two weeks ago. And obviously I knew they were right. Obviously on a rational level I knew that even if my fears had been reasonable, waiting wasn't going to help anything. But I wasn't acting on a rational level, and so long as I didn't tell Noah I could put off finding out what would happen. Put off the possibility of the worst case scenarios playing out. It's not a good reason. But it's the truth, and so I share it with him.

And now, finally, he knows it all.

There's a long silence. Finally, Noah speaks.

"Lee told me about Christmas. About you braving family dinner even though I was supposed to be there, and planning to talk to me that night. So let's put some of the blame for the delay back where it belongs, on me, for being a coward. Or even earlier, for being so all-or-nothing in October. But even if Lee hadn't told me that, Elle, I'd still never have believed you were only reaching out because of the baby. Maybe the thought went through my mind, briefly, but I never believed it. Because I've known you your entire life and I know you never would, never could. And as for me, I wish I knew how to convince you I'd be desperate to fix this regardless of the baby. I guess my stupid ultimatum is to blame here again, for making you think I never would have reached out. Elle, I don't know how long I would have held out, waiting for you to make the first move. Probably too long. But at some point I'd have seen you again and realized what I realize every time I see you. So maybe the baby changed the timeline, saved us more wasted time. But it didn't change my feelings. And you don't need to believe me today, but I hope you will soon."

We sit in silence for a minute, and finally I reach for his hand and curl mine into it. "I already believe you. For the same reason, because I've known you too long to believe otherwise. I didn't say my fears were rational, or realistic. They just... were."

"Alright, I think we're done." Noah says it softly but decisively after another few quiet moments.

"Done?" I lift myself from his side as I say it, turning to face him.

"Stop! Not like that." Noah must have seen the confusion flash through my eyes at his pronouncement, and he reaches to wrap my hand back in his. "I meant I think we're done having this conversation. Rehashing these fights. What-iffing ourselves crazy. We needed to talk about it, and now we have, and I'm glad we understand what happened better. And we'll come back to it, if we need to. But I think it's enough for now. We're never going to change what happened, no matter how many times we apologize for every misstep and wrong turn. And we're just going to have to be okay with that, and move on to what we're doing now... if you agree."

Noah smiles tentatively at me, watching my reaction, and I'm reminded exactly how much potential there is in _what we're doing now_. That our situation is far from being an unfortunate outcome that we're trying to make the best of.

"Yeah. I think I do agree." My smile grows as I say it, and I watch Noah's smile broaden too.

"So what _do_ we want to do now?"

I pale slightly at Noah's question, and he laughs softly. "Relax, Elle. I didn't mean let's jump into figuring out our whole future, right now. I meant what are we doing now, _tonight_. It's been a very, very long time since I've gotten to spend a Friday night with you. We should take a break from all this talking and... go do something."

Just like that, his grin and playful tone transform the mood.

"Are you asking me out on a date, Noah Flynn?" I tease him.

"Why, is it too soon? Should I wait another six years? I wouldn't want to rush anything." It's that quirk of his lips and that twinkle in his eye and there is no way he doesn't know exactly what they do to me.

"And just what did you have in mind?"

"We've both had dinner, and it's late enough that a movie would conflict with your newfound love of early bedtimes that I will absolutely not be making fun of. But you did say you wanted to see the school, so - how about a tour?"

"A tour... in the dark? Do you not understand how tours work?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "It's a nice night with a nearly full moon, it's a pretty campus, and most of the buildings will be lit. I was suggesting a romantic walk, you goof. Would it help if I mentioned there's an ice cream shop right next to campus?"

"See, you should have led with that ice cream part. Now I'm sold."

* * *

I spend the short drive to campus trying to make myself stop thinking of everything in terms of the past. That the last time we drove together was this, or the last time we got ice cream together was that. We've agreed to let the past be the past and move on, but it's going to take some practice. Then I'm distracted by a question that I'm not sure how to bring up.

"Are we going to run into people you know, walking around campus?"

"This late on a Friday? Probably not. But maybe. Why?"

"Just wondering if this could get awkward. Does anyone know yet? About me and the pregnancy?"

"No, but they will soon. So if we do see anyone, I guess that'll just accelerate the process."

I don't know why the prospect of sharing the news still makes me so nervous. These wouldn't even be people I know, tonight, and I survived telling several dozen classmates this week. But this would be the first time with Noah, and maybe I'm nervous wondering what he would say. How he'd describe the news. And yet he seems entirely relaxed about the prospect, and probably I should learn to let his confidence carry me.

As it turns out, I needn't have worried - Noah was right that campus would be nearly deserted. The closest we come to having to discuss the pregnancy with anyone else is when the scooper at the ice cream shop tells me the cookie crumbles on top of my cone are on the house, "for the baby."

Noah was also right about the romance of a moonlit walk. His hand has settled at the small of my back, navigating us around the winding paths, and I smile to myself at the idea of our being on a simple ice cream date after all of our history.

It's quickly become apparent that Noah knows absolutely nothing about the actual history of the school - "I was hired to teach math and coach football, not lead campus tours, Shelly," he chuckles - so instead we make up stories about each of the buildings and their namesakes as we go along, struggling to contain our laughter as the stories get more ridiculous. We finally end up by the football field and sit in the bleachers while Noah tells me about the past season. I'll admit I tune out slightly, distracted by the warmth of Noah's arm around me and memories of watching him play football.

"So I guess the coaching staff don't wear uniforms, do they?" I suddenly interrupt.

Noah looks at me in confusion. "We have team jackets, if that's what you're asking."

"But not football uniforms? Pity."

Noah catches my smirk and shakes his head in mock dismay. "So you've lost interest now that I'm out of uniform?"

"In football? Kinda. But you, I'll keep around."

"Is that so?"

"I mean, that grown-up prep school look you've got going today, that works too."

"So you really are with me only for my clothes?"

"No, you'd still be tolerable without the clothes."

I realize how it sounds the instant I've said it, and I bury my face in my hands laughing.

"Tolerable, huh? I think I can safely say I feel the same about you. You're very... tolerable, with or without clothes."

We are both laughing almost to the point of tears now, collapsed against each other, and I suspect most of it isn't the unintentional innuendo, it's the relief of having something silly to laugh about after so many heavy conversations.

I'm still laughing as Noah finally kisses me, the arm around my back pulling me in closer and his other hand lifting my face to his. It's nothing like the shy kiss we'd shared last week, and as it heats up I'm rapidly reconsidering my intentions not to rush anything this weekend. Until the wolfwhistling and cheers startle us apart.

And that's when we spot them, three teens tossing a football down the field, previously hidden by the shadows.

Noah is laughing hard once again, his arm still looped around me, and he gives the teens a sarcastic wave before turning back to face me.

"Well, my reputation's about to improve."

"Those are your students?" They're fleeing now, and at least they can't see me blushing in this dim light.

"Yep. Two are on the team, and I'll be seeing all three of them Monday in class."

"Yikes. Sorry."

"No, no apologies. Are you kidding? Getting caught making out on campus in the dark? Now I have a mysterious secret life for them to gossip about."

"Do you think they noticed the belly?"

"From that distance, when you're sitting? I highly doubt it. But so what if they did?"

"Might not help your reputation as much."

"Elle, why are you so concerned about people finding out? Unless you're planning to move to San Francisco, which I doubt, at some point soon I'm going to resign for next year, and I wasn't planning to hide the reason. I'm certainly not embarrassed about it, if that's what you're thinking."

"I didn't mean it that way. Although I'm glad to hear that. I just meant - to high school boys, I'm pretty sure this situation right here is more nightmare than aspirational."

"Ah, you might be right on that one. If you want to come visit class sometime, we could scare them straight that nothing's quite foolproof. Maybe while we're studying stats."

I chuckle, but we're flying close to sensitive topics now, and Noah notices the shift in my expression.

"Elle - you know I'm happy about this, right? That this isn't a nightmare situation to me? Not even remotely. Incredibly unexpected, but the exact opposite of a nightmare."

And I'd kind of gathered as much circumstantially, from the warmth in his voice and the emotion in his eyes when the baby is mentioned and the protective reverence with which his hands keep drifting to cradle my belly, but it really doesn't hurt to finally hear it said. And then I realize I've also never said it plainly.

"I think maybe I've forgotten to say that, too. That I don't think this is a nightmare. That this has the potential to be - amazing. Although, if we're being completely honest - it was this week I finally let myself admit that. Once I saw we - had a chance. More than a chance. And I realize it's my fault it took so long to get us to this point." The tears are back. I'm surprised I've made it so much of this evening without them.

Noah doesn't reply, he just stands and holds his hand out to me to join him.

"Come on, Elle. It's late. I think we've talked enough for tonight. More than enough. Let's get home."


	22. Arrangements and Schemes

_**(Elle)**_

We're both quiet on the drive back from campus, and I remember we haven't yet addressed sleeping arrangements. As thrilling as our earlier kiss was, not rushing still seems like the wiser option.

"So, try not to take this the wrong way, because I assure you it's… the opposite, but I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight. We've got a lot more we need to figure out before we start getting distracted." I tell Noah.

"Not a chance."

"Uh, pretty sure that's not your call to make."

"I don't mean your plan to keep this sleepover G-rated. Which, for the record, I agree is the more reasonable option. The much less appealing, but probably more reasonable, option. But there's a zero percent chance of you sleeping on the couch. I get the couch."

"That couch is me sized. It is not remotely _you_ sized."

"And you're pregnant, so end of discussion. And do you think I've never fallen asleep on my couch? I'll be fine."

"You're being ridiculous."

"No, I'm just heeding the voice in my head saying that if I let a pregnant you sleep on the couch while I get the bed, somehow, someday, my mother will find out and kill me. Which reminds me, when are we telling her?"

"Don't try to distract me with your mom." Though he does have a point. June would never let him hear the end of this. "And the only way she'd ever find out is if I told her, so how about I promise not to?"

"Nope. You still get the bed."

We pause the debate at its current standoff as we arrive back at the apartment. By the time I return from brushing my teeth and changing into pajamas, Noah has also changed and is sprawled on the couch, tapping away at his phone. The couch that really is too short for him to comfortably sleep on, no matter what he claims. I sit down next to him.

"Lee is very concerned he hasn't heard from you yet." Noah comments without looking up from his phone.

"Yes, I know, he's sent me like ten messages. I haven't yet decided whether to kill him or just yell at him for his little intervention, so you can tell him he can wait."

"I'm not passing messages to Lee for you. I am merely informing you that he's escalated to bugging me about it now."

"I'd say poor Lee, facing the nightmare of _us_ again, but I don't actually feel guilty about this." I grin at Noah, who returns the smile.

"Me neither. But I also don't think Lee's actually upset. Well, he's upset about how we've behaved this year. But I'm pretty sure he's rooting for us this time." Noah says.

"I know. He's told me. Fine, I'll stop torturing him."

I reply to the most recent of Lee's increasingly agitated messages. _You've got to chill. Things are good. We're talking. And tomorrow you and I will have words about your secret trip to SF. Now stop pestering._

"There, done."

I put my phone down and curl up against Noah. He's still reading something on his phone, but his free arm wraps around me and his hand comes to rest over my belly, as it now seems to do every time I'm within reach. We haven't talked much tonight about our impending arrival, but maybe it makes sense that we're focusing on getting us straightened out first. Dino's kicking up a storm, and I see Noah smile as he notices.

"Am I crazy, or is the kicking a lot harder than last week?"

"It's the ice cream hitting him. Or her. Right on time to keep me from falling asleep."

"Sorry. But you were the one that insisted on that double scoop and toppings."

"No, that was Dino talking. It's a whole mind-control thing fetuses do."

"And was I supposed to be the voice of reason? Telling you to have less ice cream? Because I can see that conversation going very poorly for me."

But ice cream isn't what I want to discuss right now.

"Are we just being ridiculous about sleeping arrangements?"

I see the corner of Noah's mouth lift and I'm pretty sure I know his opinion. "I think we're being reasonable about taking things slow and not getting distracted," he concedes. "I'm not sure it's reasonable to believe that where we sleep is the controlling factor. But since you don't seem to trust yourself to keep from ravishing me if we share a bed, I will reluctantly agree to your plan."

"Oh, so _I'm_ the one with the roving hands we need to worry about?"

"You're the one who thinks our sleeping arrangements will make the difference. I would point to the fact that we have managed to restrain ourselves thus far as evidence that no one needs to sleep on the couch."

" _Have_ we managed to restrain ourselves? I recall we scandalized a few of your students."

"Please don't make me describe the various thoughts I've had that we have not acted on. It would almost certainly be counterproductive."

"Alright, you win. No one is sleeping on the couch. I will keep my allegedly roving hands to myself, and you will keep your imaginative thoughts to yourself. Everyone will remain clothed."

"For now."

"Yes. I hoped the temporariness of this agreement was implicit."

* * *

 _ **(Noah)**_

I wake at dawn despite having turned off my alarm; the habit is ingrained. But I have no practice to get to this morning and my usual Saturday morning run holds no appeal compared to staying right where I am, so I spend the next hour watching Elle sleep and trying to imagine the next few months. April just started, and I'll need to be here until classes end in early June. Lee graduates around then, too, and I wonder whether Elle will still be able to travel by then, whether the three of us could have one last Boston hurrah. Then Elle's UCLA graduation in mid-June, or so my online research tells me, which will leave a month until Dino shows up. And somewhere in there, I need to find a job and a place to live in LA. July seemed like a long way off when Elle first told me the due date, but now I realize how quickly everything is going to happen.

I make myself get up once Elle starts to stir. I don't disagree that we're better off taking things slow, but if that's the plan I'm going to need to minimize the amount of time spent sharing a bed while both awake. Last night I used a mountain of overdue grading as my excuse for staying in the living room until I was sure Elle was sound asleep. We'll see what excuse I come up with tonight. Or if I still need one.

We go out to breakfast and everything is an odd mix of familiar and new. Elle greets the arrival of her coffee as avidly as she ever did, but then she turns down a refill, sheepishly admitting she's cut back. We trade stories about the past year, but hers are mostly about friends I've never met, and vice versa. And then of course there's the time spent talking about the pregnancy, which definitely falls on the unfamiliar side of things. Half of what she's telling me is going straight over my head, but at least the conclusion seems to be that everything is going well.

I'm in the middle of telling Elle some story about work when her expression suddenly shifts from entertained to a little sad.

"Hey - what's wrong?"

"You said something last night… that you'd be resigning soon. Why?"

"Your Dad and Brad are in LA. Not to mention my parents. I just figured you'd want to be near family once the baby's born."

"Yeah. I mean, that had been my plan, especially when I wasn't sure what _we_ would be doing."

"So… that's why I said that. Because if you're staying in LA, then I'm moving to LA. Which means I'm resigning." I thought we'd established that yesterday, and I really hope Elle isn't suddenly getting spooked.

"But that was my plan before seeing how happy you are here. And you have all these friends, and a job. I don't want you to give that up. And being near my dad seems less important than being near you. We should at least… talk about me moving here."

"I have friends in LA, too. And I hadn't been planning to teach forever; it's about time I figured out what's next. Besides, my mom would kill me if I caused you and her grandchild to move that far from her."

"Are you going to use your mom to win every argument? I can't sleep on the couch because your mom will kill you, I can't move here because your mom will kill you?"

"Only so long as it keeps working." I grin at her, and she knows it's true. "Speaking of… "

"Yes. I know. We have to tell your parents. Maybe - the next time you visit? It seems like in-person kind of news."

"Sure. Or you could just go over there. No need to wait for me." I smile innocently at her.

"Uh, no. You're not dodging this one."

"I wouldn't actually want to. But yeah, I should fly down again very soon. Unless you want to just… call them right now, with me? Start their day with some exciting news?"

Elle pales adorably. "Maybe let's at least finish the discussion of where we're living, first?"

"I was kidding. And anyway, that discussion's done. We'll be in LA."

"Fine. If you're sure. But I'd still like to meet these friends I'm hearing about. Before they start hating me for causing you to leave."

"They're not going to hate you. And you know, if you want to meet my friends - there's a birthday party tonight. We could go and you'd meet pretty much my whole school crowd in one go."

"Do they even know I exist? Much less the... rest of the story?"

"They know there was a girl I spent most of college dating and that the breakup was - unpleasant. And they've seen pictures from back then. But I haven't told anyone the more recent history."

"So… we'll have a lot of explaining to do when we—and by 'we,' I mean you, me, and this increasingly obvious baby situation—show up at that party, is what you're saying."

"Yeah, probably." I chuckle.

"Maybe we could write the basics on a flyer and hand out copies. Just so we don't have to repeat the story all night."

"I might have an easier way. My friend Adam loves nothing more than having gossip to share. And he already knows you're here, and is dying to know more. If you don't mind getting Adam involved, he can have the entire party informed of whatever you want before we show up."

"Am I going to like Adam, or is this one of your meathead jock friends?"

"You'll like him. Lee likes him."

Elle smiles. "Lee and I aren't the same person. We disagree on a lot of things."

"And thank God for that, or _this_ would be way weirder. But you do usually agree when it comes to liking or hating my friends."

"True. Then I like this plan. Although… what exactly _would_ we want Adam to tell people?"

"Whatever you want. That we dated in college, that we reconnected, and that we're now, ah, surprised but happy. They don't need to know we fought, or when I found out, or that we're still figuring out the details."

"Fine. But based on my recent experience, there are going to be more questions after that. About our plans. What are we telling them then?"

"You tell me." No, really, Elle. You tell me. I know what our plans would be if they were up to me alone, but I also know better than to rush her on any decisions. "But I could tell Adam that's a sore subject and to warn people not to ask."

Elle buries her face in her hands. "Argh. This is starting to sound complicated and stressful."

I shrug. "Then we don't go. My friends are going to find out eventually, but I can be the one to tell them, without dragging you to this party."

"But I want to go. I want to meet them. They're your friends. I want to know what you've been up to all this time." She sounds so earnest and determined.

"It won't be so bad. I'll use my best threatening glare if anyone asks too many questions."

"You do have an excellent threatening glare."

"So I should call Adam and rope him into this scheme?"

"Yeah. Do you think he'd want to come over first? So I could actually meet him?"

"He tried to invite himself over as soon as he heard you were visiting. He'll be there five minutes after he finds out he's welcome."

"Are we telling him the whole truth?"

"Whatever you want. You can trust Adam. He likes to gossip, but he knows when to shut up. And he knows me well enough that I'm not sure he'd believe we were actually together most of this year. But if he says he knew it was going on, the others will likely buy it."

"Okay. I at least want to meet this Adam, and then we'll decide if we're going to the party."

Elle and I wrap up breakfast and head back to my place after a driving tour of my neighborhood. She tells me she'd like to call Lee, and I figure that's my cue to disappear, so I finally go on that run I'd put off this morning. By the time I've returned and showered she's off the phone and, as curious as I am about how _that_ conversation went, I figure I'm better off staying out of it. But Elle is in a good mood, so it can't have been terrible. After checking that she's still on board with inviting Adam over, I reach for my phone.

 _Might make it to Parker's birthday after all, but I need a favor first._

 _Only if you tell me how your date with the heartcrusher went._

 _Deal, because that's what the favor involves. And don't call her that._

I chuckle when my phone rings almost instantly. Adam really can't resist the siren song of gossip.

"You have my attention. Go on."

"It's about Elle. We're probably going to drop by the birthday, but we need your help with something."

"Stop. First I need to know what's going on. That was the deal."

"You want me to tell you, or you want to come over and let her tell you?"

"She's still there? And you're actually going to let me meet her?"

"So that's a yes on coming over?"

"Dude, I'm already out the door. I'll be there in five."

I go wait for Adam at the entrance to my building. I told Elle I needed to check my mail, but really I want to make a few things clear to Adam in private.

"You look nervous. This story is getting better and better." Adam laughs as he sees me.

"You have no idea. But before you meet Elle, I need you to understand one thing. I've been in love with her for six years, we might finally be back on track, and if you screw this up for me in any way I will kill you with my bare hands. Got that?"

Adam is staring at me wide-eyed but I press on as we walk up to my floor.

"Specifically, there will be no questions about whether I'm moving in with her, and there will be absolutely no mention of marriage. Because those topics tend to make her panic and flee, and I really need her to not do that right now."

"Why would I even mention - " Adam stops mid-sentence as he catches the hard stare I'm giving him. "Oh. _Oh_. Holy shit. Wait, hold up, I need a minute."

Adam pauses halfway up the flight of stairs and sits down on a step. I roll my eyes at his dramatics but join him.

"So she's - "

"Yeah."

"Whoa. Okay. So that's… wow. And you're… happy about this, right?"

"The specific circumstances are complicated. But overall, yeah. Like I said, six years. And the whole reason you're here is so we can tell you, so I'll let Elle share the details she wants, but I just needed to make sure you weren't going to step in it and freak her out."

"Holy shit."

"You said that already."

"Yeah, well, it bears repeating. And all this has been going on without you saying a word?"

"Like I said, I'll let Elle share the details. Come on, she's going to wonder if we got lost." I start back up the stairs, followed by Adam.

Elle is making tea when we walk in, and I'm amused at how quickly she's made herself at home in my apartment. Adam makes a beeline for her before I can say anything.

"The legendary Elle Evans, I presume?"

Elle startles a bit, then laughs nervously. "Whatever you've heard, it's all lies," she jokes.

"No, what I just heard clearly wasn't a lie." Adam is staring at Elle, whose snug tee shirt makes our situation clear. "I'm Adam Rice, and I hear you have some stories for me. Come, sit. Flynn can finish making your tea. Did no one tell him he's supposed to be at your beck and call now? Flynn, for shame. We're going to need to discuss your new responsibilities."

"I'm seriously regretting letting you come over."

"I'm not. You were right, I _am_ going to like Adam. Can you make sure to add some milk to my tea when it's ready? And if you could make me some toast, too, that would be great. With peanut butter." Elle sweeps past me with a smirk and follows Adam to the couch.

"Ah, peanut butter toast. A classic. That's my oldest sister's favorite when she's pregnant. So you're done with the nausea and on to the constant hunger phase, I see?"

I remember slightly belatedly that Adam has three older sisters with an army of kids between them. Was I supposed to need to tell him that he's here to help me, not to try and charm Elle?

Elle is smiling at him, of course. "Pretty much. I think I've polished off five jars of peanut butter this month. You sound like you're familiar."

"Three older sisters, eight nieces and nephews. I've heard way more about pregnancy than I ever wanted, trust me. So judging from this - " Adam waves in the direction of Elle's bump, "I'm going to guess that Flynn's been keeping secrets for quite a while."

I keep quiet, but I'm curious to hear what Elle decides to share. Except it's to me she directs her next comment.

"Noah, are you seriously still making people call you Flynn?"

I roll my eyes at Elle. "Yes, _Shelly_. How dare I have nickname preferences."

"That's different."

"It most certainly is not, _Shelly_."

Adam is grinning at us and I can't keep a straight face either.

"In Flynn's defense, most of us go by our last names at work. But I would be more than happy to call him Noah for you."

"Please, do."

"If you two are done mocking, can we go back to discussing why we brought you over?"

"Let me guess. You need me to discreetly spread your happy news so no one has a heart attack when you show up tonight with your exceedingly lovely and very pregnant girlfriend no one knew existed?"

Adam is obnoxious, but also very smart.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Give me an hour after the party starts before you show up and I'll have everyone updated. But what exactly am I telling them?"

"You said your friends know who I am, right? That we dated before and broke up?" Elle asks me.

"Yeah. Not… October. But most of them know about before."

Of course Adam has to jump in with more. "I told you, you're the legendary Elle Evans. The one we see in all his old pictures but know better than to ask about."

"So tell them we reconnected last year. Over the summer. And I asked Noah not to tell anyone, in case it blew up again. So you can blame it on me that they hadn't heard anything about this. But now that it's working out and we're having this baby, obviously it's time to tell people."

I know she's just talking about what she wants my friends to believe, but hearing Elle say our relationship is working out makes my heart soar.

"Got it. Is it okay if I say I knew about it before today?"

"Yeah, that's probably better. It will be more believable if _someone_ knew about it."

"Oh, don't worry. The idea that the great wall of stoic silence over here has been carrying on a secret romance without ever dropping any hints isn't going to be hard to sell. And it will explain his recent indifference to the women we've thrown at him."

"So, do you want the real story?" Elle asks.

I'm a little surprised Elle is offering. But Adam does seem to have charmed her.

"Uh, _desperately_. If you're willing to tell and Flynn—sorry, _Noah_ —isn't going to glare at me for asking."

They both look at me for a response.

"You can tell him." Maybe now I can have someone other than Lee to talk to.

"It was only at the end of October that we reconnected. Which is also when _this_ happened. But then I… freaked out and ran off and we didn't talk for a while. A long while. And it took me ridiculously long to realize I was pregnant, and then even longer to face up to telling Noah. So he hasn't actually been keeping this from you long. Just this week."

"You found out _this week_?"

"Elle's summary is overly generous to me and unfair to her, but we can talk about that some other time. But that was the timeline, yeah."

"Wow. I mean, congratulations, but also, wow."

"Thanks. And thanks for the help tonight."

"Oh no, thank _you_. Because this party is going to be _awesome_ now."


	23. Elle, Meet Everyone

_**(Elle)**_

After finding out the timeline, Adam doesn't ask much more about what happened this year. Maybe he senses how raw it still is, and how awkward it would be to have us jointly tell a story we've only just started talking to each other about. He also asks absolutely nothing about our plans, and his avoidance of even seemingly obvious questions makes me wonder if Noah warned him off. Instead, we end up talking about how the pregnancy is going, about the classes I've got to finish before graduation, about what UCLA has been like. We don't only talk about me; I also get Adam and Noah to tell me about their first year teaching, about trips their gang of friends has taken, all sorts of little details that start to fill in those two blank years in my understanding of Noah.

At some point I realize we've moved on to talking about my time in Boston, and that Noah and I are finishing each other's sentences as we tell Adam stories, playfully squabbling over details. It had been a long time since I'd let myself enjoy those memories, and to be doing it with Noah, for the two of us to be laughing and sharing these stories, quietly thrills me. At some point Noah has reached for my hand, interlacing our fingers, and I suspect he is equally affected by the memories. It's ridiculous how intimate it feels to be holding hands in front of someone else, but, after all this time and separation, it just does. I don't know what Adam knows about the breakup or why I transferred to UCLA. He's not going anywhere near the topic, which makes me think he at least knows it's sensitive, and I'm grateful to him for that.

We hang out long enough that Noah eventually offers to make lunch, leaving Adam and I to keep chatting while Noah assembles sandwiches in the kitchen.

"I'm not going to ask what exactly went wrong in October, but knowing something happened explains a lot." Adam's voice has suddenly quieted. "It must have been that long weekend we had at the end of October, right? Noah didn't say anything, but we all knew something was up. He was all… doom and gloom and angry for a long time afterward."

I nod, and Adam goes on. "But this week—it was like watching him wake up. Not that he said anything, of course. I'm discovering exactly how damn good at not saying anything he can be. But I swear every day this week he got a little happier. And yesterday when he said he had plans, I figured that was why, he'd met some girl, finally gotten over whatever it was. I just didn't imagine - all this."

"Didn't imagine he'd gone and gotten himself in trouble?"

"Are you kidding? You think that's what he thinks this is?"

I shake my head. "No, not really. I'm realizing it's not."

"I mean, I'm not going to speak for Noah, but a lot of things this week and this winter and, hell, the whole time I've known him, have started making a lot more sense, seeing you two together."

I'm not sure how to respond. It's thrilling, hearing Adam's take on Noah and on us, but it's also terrifying. Our disasters crushed him as much as they did me and I can't even contemplate a repeat. There's no room for error, now.

* * *

After Adam finally leaves, Noah and I spend the afternoon playing tourist, going downtown and taking the ferry just to enjoy the views. A sweet older woman offers to take our picture when she sees us trying to get a selfie, and I love the picture so much I immediately send it to Mickey, figuring it's all the update she needs. We avoid serious discussions for the most part, instead just enjoying the time together, but at some point on the open deck of the ferry, staring out at the water, something jogs my memory, and I start talking about two years ago. About running around taking care of Dad and taking care of Brad and never letting myself stop and think about anything else. We don't rehash why I was on my own, I just want Noah to know about that part of my life. To fill in the blanks of those years.

Later, over dinner, Noah gives me a rundown on the friends likely to be at tonight's party—mostly fellow teachers, plus an assortment of their girlfriends and boyfriends and roommates—while I do my best to remember all the names he's throwing at me. Meeting everyone all at once had seemed like the easiest option earlier, but I'll admit I'm getting nervous now.

Adam texts Noah right as we're finishing dessert, letting him know that he's made the rounds at the party and spread our news and that "everyone is eager to meet the heartcrusher." Noah tries to keep me from seeing that last message, but I snatch his phone away to make sure I read it right before giving him a disbelieving look.

"Yeah, that one you're going to have to blame Lee for. I had nothing to do with it."

"Lee?"

"One of the times Lee visited, a while ago, some friends grilled him for the story on you. And you shouldn't be the one getting mad here, because you can guess who came out sounding better in Lee's version of our history."

"Lee called me a _heart crusher_ and you think _I_ came out sounding better?"

"Lee didn't call you that. Lee described _me_ as having gotten my heart crushed. And then my friends improvised from there."

"Is that really what they think of me? That I'm this horrible heart-crushing person?"

"Elle, no. I'm sorry, I should have realized how bad it sounds out of context. And trust me, I don't like them saying it either. They don't actually know much about you, or our history. They noticed you in my old pictures, and I guess I wasn't forthcoming enough with details when they asked, so when Lee visited they tried to get the story from him. And his version was basically that I'm an idiot who never deserved you, and that it was my own damn fault if I'd rather, quote, _mope around with a crushed heart_ than admit I missed you. Which was - painfully accurate. So it's me they're making fun of when they say 'heartcrusher,' not you."

It's still not funny, but a little voice inside my head reminds me that I haven't always told the most unbiased versions of our history to my UCLA friends, either, and that there was a time before this fall when Mickey referred to Noah as "that runaway jackass."

"Could we maybe add to Adam's assignment for tonight? To tell people no more 'heartcrusher'?"

"I thought I'd already told him that this morning, but I'll make it crystal clear now."

I watch Noah reply to Adam. I don't read the messages, but they seem to involve a lot of allcaps.

"Done. Ready to head to the party?"

Ready to face a room full of strangers who apparently know me only as a notorious heartcrusher but have just been told I'm Noah's secret knocked-up girlfriend? And I can't even have a drink at this party? Yeah, totally ready.

* * *

Of course, it doesn't turn out nearly as scary as I'd imagined. These are Noah's friends, after all, and despite my fondness for describing some of his crowd as meathead jocks, he doesn't actually associate with jerks. Yeah, there's a long uncomfortable moment right after we walk in, when every pair of eyes in the room is on us. Or, more specifically, on me and my midsection. That's what's been so hard to get used to, this week without the giant concealing jackets: having everyone gawk and instantly start making assumptions. But here they also see Noah's arm wrapped around me and the reassuring kiss he drops on the top of my head, and I don't need to look up at his face to know he's staring them all down. And thanks to Adam, it's not shock I see in all those eyes fixed on us, just a mix of amusement and curiosity. Amusement and curiosity and quite a few warm smiles.

Finally, I take a deep breath and break the tension with a wave. "Hi. I'm Elle the heartcrusher. But you can update that to 'baby mama' now."

Across the room I see Adam spit out his drink and I resolutely walk over to him with Noah trailing behind me, laughing. See? Never let a crowd of strangers know you're nervous. Get out ahead of the story and own it.

"I'm not sure why you guys thought you needed my help with this. Clearly Elle could have handled this all on her own." Adam greets us.

"Nah. You warmed up the crowd for me, so thanks. And now I could really use a drink, even if I have to settle for soda."

* * *

 _ **(Noah)**_

You learn a lot about your friends from their reaction to news like this. There are one or two determined to find out how and why exactly I've kept this under wraps for so long, fishing for more of the story than we care to share. A few with a terrified look in their eyes at the mere idea of a baby, who manage to put "yikes" in the same sentence as "congratulations." And then the ones making unsubtle references to expecting an invitation soon or jokingly asking if Elle's dad has paid me a visit yet. I manage to quash those lines of questioning with a glare, but I can see Elle's smile get tighter and more forced every time it comes up. But Adam has done his job well - beyond those few annoying interactions, we are warmly welcomed and I watch Elle relax and charm one after another of my friends.

The novelty of our arrival wears off after a while and now Elle and Adam and I are just hanging out. She and he are busy figuring out whether she knows any of his friends at UCLA, and I leave them to that discussion while I go refill our drinks. I'm digging through the cooler when I hear a familiar voice call my name.

"Noah?"

This evening is about to get a little more awkward.

"Megan - hey. It's been a while."

Megan Taylor. _That_ Megan, the one I met soon after moving to San Francisco. The one I dated for most of that summer and fall and thought things were going swimmingly with, until she told me she loved me and I realized I didn't feel the same. I liked her, sure. But the minute she used that word all I could think about was Elle and how much I'd loved her, and how far my feelings for Megan were from that. I took that as a sign I shouldn't be dating Megan. Don't get me wrong, Megan was great and we had fun. She just wasn't Elle. It wasn't the worst breakup, all things considered, and she's still friends with some of my friends, so we run into each other occasionally.

I'm guessing Megan just got to the party, or Adam would have warned me she's here, which means that she probably hasn't heard the news yet. We exchange small talk about what we've been up to lately, and then I see her look past me into the living room.

"Who's Adam's date? And since when does Adam date girls?"

I look back and, sure enough, she's looking straight at Adam and Elle. They do look quite cozy as they chat ensconced at one end of a couch, and I'd be more concerned by how thoroughly Adam has charmed Elle if not for what Megan just alluded to. Megan's stare doesn't go unnoticed by Adam, who does a discreet double-take at the sight of her, but not discreet enough to avoid Elle's notice. So now they're both staring at us. Great. I'm relieved to see Adam grin and say something to Elle, who arches an eyebrow at me before turning back to her conversation with Adam.

"That's Elle. And she's not Adam's date."

"Mmmhmm, I was gathering that from that look she just shot you."

I can't help a sheepish smile as I quickly try to remember whether Megan would have reason to recognize Elle's name. It's not like I'd been specific when we broke up. "I just don't see this working out" is easier to say than "I just realized I'm not remotely over my ex."

"Wait - Elle? Lee's friend that you dated in college?"

So that answers that. And it's perhaps ironic that after all the frustrations caused by our triangle, the years of sometimes wishing we could just be Elle-and-Noah without our third wheel Lee, I defaulted to referring to Elle as "Lee's friend" after our breakup, when I needed to make her sound less important to me.

"That's the one."

"Interesting."

Megan is clearly waiting to see if I'll say more, and I should probably tell her the rest before she hears the news from someone else. It's not like I'm worried about hurting her feelings, she moved on long ago, it's just… awkward.

"We, ah, got back together. And before you hear this from anyone else, since it's been somewhat of a hot topic tonight… Elle's pregnant."

Megan chokes on her drink, coughing hard to recover. Adam and Elle have clearly been keeping tabs on our conversation, because I see both of them trying not to laugh at Megan's reaction. Glad they're enjoying this.

Megan gives me a long appraising look once she's recovered. "So she was why, right?"

"No - I swear, I hadn't seen Elle for ages when you and I were dating, or long after we broke up."

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way. But you aren't nearly as hard to read as you like to think you are, Noah. I figured there was a reason you looked so spooked when I said I loved you. And now it makes sense. I'm glad you guys worked things out."

"Yeah, I'm pretty glad too." I admit with a smile. "And thanks for being... cool about this."

"Are you kidding? This takes away any last scrap of regret about the breakup. No one wants to compete with someone's first love they never got over. And if you guys have figured it out now… even better."

"I should probably get back over there. You want to, ah, come say hi and meet Elle?"

Megan laughs. "Maybe after you've filled her in and told her she doesn't need to keep glaring at me like that. But it was nice seeing you. And… congratulations."

Megan wanders over to another group of friends and I make my way back to Elle and Adam, who stands to let me have his spot on the couch next to Elle.

"So it looks like I don't need to spread the news to Megan?"

"No, she's… up to date now." I tell Adam before turning to Elle. "And I'm guessing Adam's filled you in on who that was?"

"Oh yeah. And then went to great lengths to tell me exactly how long ago it was, and that _you_ initiated the breakup, and that I didn't need to be staring daggers at her because she's not at all pining or psycho. Do you _pay_ Adam to be your agent?" Elle smiles.

"Elle's right. I need a raise. Maybe naming rights?" Adam suggests.

"Naming rights… for the baby?"

"Yeah. I promise not to pick anything too weird or trendy. Something classic. Like… Adam."

"You'll have to get in line behind Lee. Actually, don't. The only people naming this baby will be Elle and I."

"Wait, when did I give you a vote? You've really hurt Dino's feelings making fun of its name, so I think you've waived future naming rights." Elle laughs.

* * *

Nate Parker, the birthday boy, was a chemistry major in college, and after Elle finds this out they end up locked in a long conversation about research and whether to go to grad school, leaving Adam and I to talk.

"Thanks for breaking the ice for us tonight. Elle was nervous about meeting everyone, but I think she's having a great time now."

"No thanks needed, man. It was worth it just for the looks on everyone's faces when I told them you'd be showing up with your secret girlfriend carrying your secret baby and that they needed to act super casual about it. And then when I told them the girl in question was the legendary Elle... Everyone's very impressed with your ability to keep this under wraps for so long."

"You know, we did once secretly date right under everyone's noses for months, in high school. Elle didn't want Lee to find out… which didn't turn out well, but that's a different story."

"At some point I'm going to need to hear your version of what happened with Elle. Before this year, I mean. And then this year, too. This year sounds like quite the story."

"Yeah. Maybe let me finish figuring out how this year turns out, first, and then I'll tell you."

"You think you don't know how this turns out? Because after one day with you two, I'm pretty sure I can tell you. But I was told not to mention certain topics."

"Around Elle. Don't mention those topics around Elle."

"So explain that to me. Why exactly were you so worried, this morning, that I'd say something about moving in together or marriage? Because Elle seems pretty full steam ahead to me."

"Let's just say I've got experience with Elle seeming full steam ahead one minute and disappearing the next. And she had her reasons, and we're working on those reasons. But for now, I'm not taking any chances. Elle can drive this however fast or slow she needs to."

"Sitting back and waiting doesn't seem like your style."

"I'm not sitting back. I'm moving to LA. I'm going to be there, be with her, for every part of this. I'm just not going to worry about what she's calling us. And I've learned the hard way that grand declarations aren't the way to go with Elle. Putting her on the spot just makes her run."

"I guess it's only been a week, too."

I glance at my watch. "A week and a couple hours."

"Do I get _that_ story?"

I chuckle, and I realize the memory is starting to feel a little less brutal. "You know how a bunch of us went to UCLA with the basketball team?"

"Yeah. Did you go find Elle?"

"Not intentionally. I decided to swim some laps. So did she, as it turned out. The news was pretty obvious once I saw her."

I see him work through the scenario in his mind.

"Damn." But before he can say more, Elle starts walking back our way. "Okay - you, me, dinner sometime this week. I told everyone here I was in the loop, and you're going to make good on that." Adam tells me right before Elle gets within earshot.

"Sure. It'll be a long dinner, though."


	24. Sunday

_**(Elle)**_

Seeing Noah here, meeting all of his friends, makes me wonder whether I should press him again on the possibility of me moving to San Francisco rather than him to LA. He'd be giving up so much, just like he's always been ready to do for me, and I'd like to show him I'm willing to do that too. And yet, he's right that being in LA, being near our families, being on territory familiar to both of us, makes a lot of sense. Maybe where we live isn't the right issue over which to make this point, but I need Noah to know that it doesn't always have to be him accommodating me.

It's getting late and my energy is flagging, but I don't want to make Noah leave the party early, so I just quietly sit next to him as he talks to friends. My head is leaning on his shoulder, and I enjoy letting his voice wash over me even as I lose track of the conversation, enjoy his warmth, enjoy the faint and familiar smell of his soap clinging to him.

Suddenly Noah's voice is directed at me and I startle. "Elle - hey, Elle, I think you've had enough of a nap. We should get you home."

"What? No - I wasn't asleep. I mean, maybe just for a second."

"Shell, you've been passed out at least half an hour."

I can see from the amused looks on the others' faces that he's telling the truth, and I think I'm still blushing by the time we get back to Noah's car.

"Sorry for being such a drag." I sigh.

"Yeah, it was really horrible, having you sleep on my shoulder. You know how much I've always hated that." Noah laughs.

"Yeah, but in front of everybody? Embarrassing."

"Somehow I've survived worse embarrassment than having a cute girl fall asleep on me. Especially when it's because I got her pregnant." He chuckles.

"Embarrassing _for me_. And, for the record, I don't love that expression. 'Getting a girl pregnant,' like she had nothing to do with it."

"Too close to the caveman line? And you're right, this was most definitely a joint endeavor."

I don't need to look at him to know he's smirking. And I'm trying very hard _not_ to look at him, because that would only make it harder not to dwell on memories of that _joint endeavor_. Incredibly alluring and distracting memories. I hadn't fully thought through this "take it slowly" plan, I realize. It's definitely not a forever plan, so what is it I'm waiting for?

Maybe confidence. Not confidence in what I want; I have no doubts there. But confidence in us. Confidence that we're on the same page, that we understand and trust each other and ourselves enough to handle the next bump in the road. Confidence that _I_ can handle the next bump in the road. Because there are going to be bumps—there always are, and even more so after adding a baby to the equation. We've managed so much progress this week, but it's still just one week, and we've got more work to do. So maybe it's not time for distraction yet.

In any case, it's a moot point for tonight because just staying awake long enough to change and brush my teeth is a challenge. I sleepily wonder if Noah's again going to wait for me to fall asleep before coming to bed—like I didn't catch on to that plan yesterday—but this time he follows close behind me and the last thing I register before falling asleep is his arm wrapping around me.

* * *

I wake to the sound of Noah whispering "Be back soon" as he kisses my cheek, and I sleepily watch him leave the room; I'm not sure he even realized I'd awoken. He's in workout clothes, and I guess some things never change. Noah needs to move like we mere mortals need to breathe, and he's an absolute bear when deprived. He twisted an ankle sophomore year and had to stay off it for two weeks, and if I'd had to put up with his crankiness about having to scale back his workouts for any longer I might have murdered him.

Trying to fall back asleep proves impossible, so finally I drag myself out of bed and take advantage of Noah's absence to explore his apartment. It's not snooping, I'm not searching through drawers or anything, it's just a chance to look around without distraction. The apartment is neat and functional, but it doesn't feel terribly homey; I don't get the sense it was set up with an expectation of staying long. He also hasn't decorated much—the walls are mostly bare, and I suspect June is to credit for the few framed pictures. Noah with his parents and Lee at Harvard graduation. A young Noah and Lee hiking somewhere. Team pictures. Some ocean and landscape shots I suspect he took. I'm not in any of the pictures, which is painful to realize.

But I'm not actually absent from the apartment, not when you know the history. That gray fleece blanket on the couch, the one he bought for me. A BU travel mug I probably left at his place. When I scan the bookshelves, several books I gave him, not to mention a few that are rightfully mine. And then, on the highest shelf, several photobooks. I'd have to climb a chair to reach them, but I don't need to open them to know what's inside—I made him those books our last summer together. There's one with all his football pictures, one with pictures from high school, and one from college. Those three are the only ones I see on the shelf, but there should be a fourth. The fourth one was our book, all my favorite pictures of the two of us and our adventures. I'm not surprised it's not out there with the others, but I do wonder what Noah did with it.

I'm getting hungry and Noah should be back in half an hour or so, according to the note he left on the counter, so I decide to make us breakfast. A search of his pantry and refrigerator turn up the ingredients for muffins and I get to making Mickey's secret recipe.

It's on my second or third time opening the refrigerator that the brightly colored card on the door catches my eye. I look closer, and it's a save-the-date for a wedding. The names sound familiar, and after some thinking I remember both from Harvard. Kyle was on the football team, and Emma lived in Noah's dorm. I don't think they were even dating last I saw them, but apparently they're getting married this summer. And then I spot a second save-the-date on the refrigerator, this one for a couple I did know about, and suddenly I remember Noah mentioning in October that his friends had started pairing off and that he already had two weddings to attend this summer.

I can't stop thinking about those save-the-dates as I assemble the muffin batter. Yesterday night every unsubtle shotgun wedding joke made me increasingly angry, but today these cards just make me feel sad. It's the reminder of what might have been, I realize.

If Dad hadn't been in that accident, if I hadn't freaked out and pushed Noah away, if we'd gotten to keep going the way we were, happy and carefree, maybe we'd be sending out cards like these now. I'd said getting married seemed unthinkable, that night everything went wrong, but I meant then, not forever. It doesn't seem unthinkable that two years later I would have felt differently, if we'd never split up. If everything had gone right. I'd have graduated, we'd have moved in together, and at some point in there we'd have gotten engaged. Or not, because who knows what else might have happened. But the decision, whatever it would have been, would have been on its own merits.

I look at the cards again, at the pictures of the beaming couples, and I realize it's also jealousy I'm feeling. Not of the getting married itself, but that people won't forever assume they only got married because they got pregnant. That they got to make this decision on its own. That they'll never wonder to themselves what they would have done otherwise. That they won't have to grit their teeth through yet another _hilarious_ shotgun wedding joke.

But then again, what do I actually know about these couples? I shouldn't assume their choices were any easier than ours. And how do I know what our story would have been, minus Dad's accident? Maybe we would have fought over what Noah should do in that year between his graduation and mine. Maybe one of us would have gotten cold feet at the idea of settling down forever with someone they'd picked in high school. Now at least we know that after two years apart, two years of seeing who else is out there, we both lost our minds again the minute we were reunited.

I do my best to shake off this sadness and frustration. It doesn't matter what others expect us to do, or what they'll believe about our motivations for whatever we decide. It doesn't matter what other couples are doing, or what we might have done under different circumstances. It only matters what _we_ want, and we don't have to decide anything on anyone's schedule but ours.

The door opens and a sweaty Noah walks in, distracting me from the quicksand of these thoughts. He immediately kicks off his sneakers and peels off his shirt before walking in the direction of the shower, and I don't think he noticed me here in the kitchen at all.

"What, I don't get the full show?" I tease him.

Noah freezes before turning around. "Elle! You're up! I… figured you'd still be asleep."

"Someone woke me up whispering in my ear."

"Sorry about that." At least he looks a little sheepish. "So now you're… cooking?"

"Trying to. I checked that you had all the ingredients I needed to make muffins, but apparently what I _should_ have checked first was whether you own a muffin pan. So now it's one very big flat layer in the only baking pan I could find. I thought you claimed to cook now?"

"Yeah, I _cook_ now. As in food, not muffins. Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't start with your 'real food' nonsense. Mickey's secret muffin recipe is the realest food there is, although we'll have to see how it turns out in sheet cake form."

Noah grins at me before shaking his head as if to chase away a thought, and his ensuing smirk tells me I'm not going to like whatever that thought was.

"What? Don't give me that look. I know that look. Just say it."

Now he gives me his best "Who, me?" fake-innocent face.

"Seriously. Just say it, whatever it is."

"It's just… you are literally barefoot and pregnant and in my kitchen, cooking. And I couldn't decide if there was any way to point out the obvious joke without you murdering me. And then I was debating whether it would be worth it anyway."

"Get out of here before I give you a chance to find out." I glare at him, but the smile I'm having to stifle undermines the believability of the glare.

Laughing, Noah retreats down the hall, and I'm more than a little tempted to follow him into the shower. Sometimes this reasonable and cautious thing is a drag.

* * *

My giant flat muffin-cake turns out surprisingly edible, and I'm trying to enjoy our breakfast without looking at the clock and thinking about how long we have left until my late afternoon flight.

"So, we've seriously got to tell my parents." Noah comments, reaching across the table for my hand.

Ah, back to this again. "Yes, I know. But it should be in person. And together. Or just you if you want, but you're not sending me in there alone and missing the fun."

"Of course not. But if you want to do this in person, it'll have to wait another two weeks - my dad's at a conference next weekend."

"I really do want to do this in person."

"So I'll come down that weekend. Not next weekend, but the one after. Should we tell Lee to fly in too, so he doesn't miss the show?" He's joking, obviously, but I'm glad Lee's over-involvement is a laughing matter now, rather than a bitter one.

"As much as Lee would love that, I don't think we need an audience. Are you going to tell your parents you're coming to visit? Or are we just showing up at their doorstep?"

"We can figure that out later."

"And what exactly are we telling them?"

Noah looks confused by the question. "That you're pregnant?"

"Duh. That part we won't have to tell them. That part has reached the self-announcing phase. I meant, what are we telling them happened?"

"The truth?" He still looks confused that I'm even asking. "They're more than aware we've spent the better part of three years dodging each other. They're not going to buy the story we told my friends."

"We're telling them that you showed up to keep me company on Mom's birthday and then instead of actually talking about what happened between us we spent the weekend having sex all over their house before I freaked out and ran away?"

"I didn't say it needed to be the _detailed_ truth. I came to visit, we tried to reconcile but didn't get through all our misunderstandings, and then we hid out from each other until this news forced us to stop being idiots. And now we're working things out. You know that's the only part they're going to care about."

He's right, and that part of the story is the hardest to tell, because it's the one still being written.

"So that gives us two weeks to figure out answers to the questions you know they'll ask."

"They can ask. Doesn't mean we have to have answers yet. Not that we shouldn't keep talking, but we should do it for us, not our parents."

My hand is still in his, and he is tracing slow lines across my palm with his thumb. It does sound simple when he puts it that way.

"Okay. But you're in charge of telling them we don't have all those answers yet."

"Gladly. I have a good bit of experience frustrating my dad." Noah chuckles.

We're silent for a minute, and then Noah starts in again.

"Elle, are you sure you want to wait so long to tell my mom? I get that you don't want to deal with my dad without me. But you and my mom… I hate that you haven't gotten to talk to her about this. If I weren't involved, she'd have been your first call."

"If you weren't involved, there would have been no call to make."

"I meant if it weren't the two of us. If this were happening with some other guy and you could just talk to my mom without her also being… _my_ mom."

"Maybe. But I'm glad it's you. Even if it means sharing your mom." I smile at him. "And Lee. Let's not forget that being with you also means torturing Lee. So that makes it worth it, too."

"Totally. Torturing Lee was always my main motivation here." Noah deadpans. "But seriously, Shell, you don't have to wait for me to tell my mom. It doesn't have to be about us. It's okay for this to be about you and her. For you to get this moment with her."

"Noah, no. She's your mom. It's incredibly sweet that you're trying to make this about me, but _she's your mom_. This is her grandchild. She wants to hear this from _you_. We'll tell her together. In two weeks. Like we just agreed."

* * *

After breakfast we curl up on the couch. We haven't discussed any plans for today, but just sitting here together doesn't seem like a bad option. I'm leaning back against Noah's chest, and his hands are trying to track Dino's muffin-fueled dance party. I've cheated Noah of too much of this experience already, so I stay quiet and let him enjoy the moment. Finally, though, a question I've been thinking about increasingly often this week spills out.

"Do you want to find out? If Dino's a boy or a girl, I mean."

"Can we still? Are there going to be more scans?"

"Probably, but the answer's already in my chart. I told them not to tell me, then, but I could just ask at my next visit. Or even call."

"Do _you_ want to know?"

"Yes - the mystery is driving me nuts." I admit. "But if I find out, I want it to be with you."

"Is this so you can throw one of those crazy reveal parties?"

I shudder. "No. I just want to share this with you. Not… you and a crowd."

"Really? I've never known you to pass on an excuse for a party."

"Yeah, well, I've also never needed to think about this kind of party before now. Thank God."

"Thank God?"

I rush to clarify. "I didn't mean it so negatively. Just that now is a better time for this to have happened than six years ago. Or even three years ago." Worse yet, I add silently, with anyone else.

"Better now when we weren't even talking to each other until last week?" Noah seems unconvinced.

"Better now when it doesn't risk either one of us dropping out of school. Now when we're a little more mature. I mean, yes, I screwed up the start of this- " Noah starts to object, but I don't let him interrupt. "Fine, we both screwed up. But even with all that, yeah, I think now's a better time. Can you imagine dealing with this when we'd just started college?"

"We would have figured it out."

Maybe, but I still think our odds are better now. But it doesn't matter, anyway, because it didn't happen then and it did happen now.

"We're arguing over hypotheticals again. And I'm glad you have such faith in our younger selves, but we don't need to wonder what they would have done. Just what _we_ 're going to do."

"You're right. What were we even talking about, originally?" Noah asks.

"Finding out what we're having."

"Right. So how do we do this - do I need to come down for your next appointment?"

"I was thinking I'd just ask them to put it in an envelope. And then wait for our next visit."

"And that's not going to drive you even more crazy, having the answer right there in front of you and having to wait?" He's grinning, because he knows it will.

"I'll give it to Mickey for safekeeping. She'll enjoy lording it over me."

"Do you… have a preference?"

"I don't know. I think I just want to find out, either way. Although I'm not sure I'd know what to do with a girl. Brad and Lee and you - that's what I know."

Noah winces. "See, familiarity with what _we_ were like would have been my reason to root for a girl."

"It's going to be half you and half me. We're in trouble no matter what."

"Half you and half me, plus Lee way too eager to be as bad an influence as he can. We're doomed." Noah laughs.

But sitting here wrapped in Noah's arms, feeling the rumble of his laughter as I lean against his broad chest, feels like the furthest thing from doom. All those quicksand thoughts I'd been sinking into this morning disappear. It's only when I'm alone that any of this feels overwhelming. When Noah's here… I can believe it'll all work out. Maybe I don't know exactly what that will mean, what that will look like, but I believe it'll work out.

We eventually leave the couch, eventually come up with a plan for the time remaining before my flight. I'm in the mood for more touristing, and this time I convince Noah to visit Alcatraz. It means another ferry ride, and apparently there's something about sitting and watching the choppy waters that loosens my tongue, because today it's therapy I start talking about. I've told Mickey some and Lee a little and Dad a bit too, but this is the first time so much of the story comes tumbling out. I want Noah to hear because I need him to know how far I've come from the crushing panic that gripped me last fall. I don't blame him for treading gingerly and avoiding certain subjects entirely this week, but I need him to know I can handle all the conversations we need to have.

* * *

All too soon Noah is driving me to the airport, and it's as we near the parking lot that I realize my plan to take things slowly this weekend has been entirely too successful. Noah's arm has hardly left my side, I've spent long pleasant stretches curled up against him, but other than that kiss so rudely interrupted by his students, we've kept this weekend frustratingly chaste. Lee would be thrilled to hear we finally managed to talk before getting naked, if it were any of his damn business. And anyway, Lee's opinions are the last thing I want to think about right now. I haven't gotten nearly enough of Noah, and now we're on the verge of two weeks apart. Two weeks should be nothing after the last five months, the last two and a half years, but still it feels impossibly long.

So when Noah parks the car and reaches for his door, I stop his arm and pull him to me instead, claiming his lips with long-suppressed hunger. My move catches him off guard, but within seconds he's responding with equal fervor, managing to scoop me out of my seat and onto his lap while barely interrupting our kiss. It's a welcome transition, because now I can wind both hands into his hair as I kiss my way across his cheek to the sharp edge of his jawline and then down to nip at the spot where his neck curves into his shoulder. His hands, initially set firmly at my hips, start sliding higher, and it's when the tips of his fingers brush the edges of my bra that we both seem to remember where we are. In a car, in a busy parking lot, in broad daylight.

" _Now_ is when you finally make your move?" Noah groans with a laugh.

I flush crimson, relieved my face is hidden in his shoulder. "I realized I was about to be gone. And I wasn't ready to be."

"There must be a later flight you could take. We're going back to my place."

"So tempting. If only I weren't due at my dad's for dinner."

"Give me your phone. I'll call him. Right now."

"You sure that should be your first call to him after all this time? And given the trouble we already find ourselves in?"

I feel rather than hear Noah's answering chuckle. "He already hates me. May as well."

I finally pull myself back upright so I can look at Noah. "He doesn't. He even sometimes thinks _you_ 're the reasonable one here. So let's not ruin that."

"I don't see what's remotely unreasonable about wanting to take you back to my place to finish what you've finally, finally started."

I lean in for a last lingering kiss. "Two weeks."

"You will be the death of me, Elle Evans."


	25. The Longest Week

_**(Noah)**_

She's trying to kill me. I was in agreement with taking things slowly, and I can't deny we've done a better job of talking this weekend than we did in October. But I did not agree to _this_. To Shelly leaping at me minutes before she abandons me for two very long, very lonely weeks. She's lost her mind and apparently she's intent on making sure I go crazy, too.

"Two weeks," she says, before tormenting me with another reminder of everything we are now going to have to wait for. She finally breaks for air but I keep her close, leaning my forehead against hers.

"You will be the death of me, Elle Evans."

"We got through a year of a much greater distance between us, and much longer waits between visits." Elle reminds me.

"We did. But back then you would do this within five minutes of arriving, not wait until five minutes before leaving."

Her reaction is somewhere between a giggle and a sigh. "A lot is different right now."

An understatement if ever I heard one. My hands have settled back down at her waist after venturing dangerously high in our initial madness, so I am acutely aware of the most significant of those changes.

"And I'm not sorry I waited." Elle continues. "We managed a lot this weekend. A lot of necessary discussions that might not have happened if we'd been distracted."

"I'm not sorry either. And pay no attention to my grumbling. Five minutes before you leave is better than not at all. Even if I am tempted to follow you into that plane and call in sick tomorrow."

Elle closes her eyes and doesn't respond immediately. Finally, quietly, she does. "I don't want to go because when I'm with you I know we're going to work all this out."

Now I'm definitely considering following her home and just not coming back. Not if she needs me there to trust this. "And when I'm not there?"

"It's… more overwhelming. I overthink everything."

"So don't. Only think about the important part."

"Which is?"

"This. Us. Our repeated failure to get even the slightest bit over each other."

"We're really bad at getting over each other. We should stop trying." The words are joking, but her tone is entirely earnest.

"I'm already done trying. Very, extremely done. I love you, Elle. That's not new, I've just been terrible about admitting it these past few years."

"I made it kind of hard when I ran away." She whispers.

"Stop. We said we were done with that conversation. You're here now. I'm here now. And I love you." And I'm going to keep saying it until she trusts it.

Elle sits back slightly to look at me, resting her hands at my shoulders. "Me too. I mean - I love you, too. Still. I never stopped."

I watch her eyes fill with tears, and she buries her head against me again.

"Argh. It's the ridiculous crying again. I'm not sad. I am the opposite of sad." She mutters into my shoulder.

I can't help but laugh at her frustration with herself. "I know, Elle." And I don't mind at all, because she's not the only one tearing up, and I don't have the excuse she does.

We linger in this moment another minute before I give in and acknowledge the truth told by the dashboard clock. "Come on, we've got to get you to your flight. Go have dinner with your dad, then go home and call me and I'll tell you again. And the next time you feel overwhelmed, call me then too, and I'll keep telling you."

* * *

There's a lot I need to catch up on after getting back from the airport—stuff like work and laundry and groceries that had no chance at my attention so long as Elle was here—but first I've got another overdue conversation to take care of.

"Hello?" It doesn't sound like Mr. Evans recognizes the number calling him.

"Mr. Evans, hi. It's Noah."

"Ah, Noah. I was wondering how long it would take. And I've told you before to call me Mike."

"That was a long time ago, sir. I wasn't going to assume." A long time and a bad breakup and a surprise pregnancy ago, so a lot of reasons to err on the side of formality.

"What you call me isn't what I've been losing sleep over, Noah."

So this is off to a great start. At least there was some humor in his voice when he said that. I think. I may as well cut to the chase.

"I apologize for not calling sooner. I was… still figuring some things out. That I needed to talk to Elle about first. But I want you to know how seriously I am taking all of this. And that I'm going to be there for Elle, in whatever way she wants me there. And I'm sorry I let it get so bad between us that Elle didn't feel like she could tell me for so long. If I'd had any idea she was pregnant, I would have been there that day. I hope you know that." I'm rambling. I feel like I'm eighteen again and trying to convince him I'm not his worst nightmare.

"The both of you made yourselves a fine mess with this. But you're talking now, that's the important thing. Look, Noah, I don't know what exactly happened between you, but I know what I've witnessed for the last couple years. The avoiding each other was ridiculous when it was just you two, but it cannot happen again, now. You're going to have to keep talking, no matter what. You understand that, I hope."

"Completely."

"But I also hope you know you'll always have my support. Both of you, and regardless of whether you're together or not. And I'm sorry I couldn't convince Elle to tell you sooner. I do know you would have been there, if she'd let you."

"Thank you, sir. Mike, I mean."

"Please tell me you've told your parents, now?"

"Not yet." I hear him sigh with exasperation. "Elle wants it to be in person, so I'm going to come down in two weeks. Once Dad gets back to town."

"Yes, well, Elle's found a lot of reasons for putting off telling people. As you know. Don't let it go any longer or I'll stop giving vague answers when your mom asks about Elle."

"Understood."

"Look, Noah, I know Elle thinks your parents and I are going to expect you two to have some kind of grand plan all figured out. And I suspect she fears we're going to pressure you to make decisions about your relationship sooner than you might otherwise. So I'll tell you what I told her, and maybe you can get her to believe it—that I just need to know you two are talking and want to make this work. Whatever making this work turns out to look like. That's all."

I'm not sure my dad is going to be as level-headed about the situation as Elle's. But at least Mike's in our corner.

Elle calls me later that night as she's getting ready for bed. We're no longer pretending to need any reason for these calls other than to hear each other's voices. I'd say it's back to old habits, but the part when she wishes me good night from Dino is definitely new. New and still a little terrifying to think about in detail, but I'm going to take my own advice and not overthink it. I discover as I get into bed that Elle left behind the shirt she'd slept in and I'm not sure if it was absent-mindedness or an intent to mark her territory. The shirt, unsurprisingly, still smells like her, as does the pillow she used. It's going to be a hell of a long two weeks.

* * *

It feels odd on Monday morning to be back in my routine as if nothing has changed. Not quite nothing, of course. I have an entertaining stare-off with two of the interrupting students when I see them at practice; I'm pretty sure the glare I give them will only make them more convinced the story is gossip worth repeating. The news also seems to be spreading from the younger teachers who were at Saturday's party to the more senior teaching staff, so I enjoy a few more rounds of congratulations, along with questions about what this means for me next year. It's a reminder that I need to start working on the job search and the move, and that evening I start figuring out what connections I have in LA.

Mickey has taken to sending me Elle updates and pictures. I'm not entirely sure she's told Elle she's doing this, especially since most of the pictures seem to have been taken without Elle noticing, but I'm not going to be the one to snitch. Or maybe Elle does know, given their whole agreement about no secret meddling; either way, it's nice to know someone's looking out for Elle when I can't be. Elle would hate to hear me put it that way, and I know she doesn't _need_ looking out for… but I still wish I could. And in my absence, I'm glad she's got Mickey, and I'm glad _I_ 've got Mickey's updates. Even if the pictures aren't helping at all with how endlessly the days seem to be stretching.

Adam hasn't asked yet how the rest of the weekend went, but I know I owe him more of the story. For now he sticks to smirking at me whenever he catches me looking at my phone. It's true I've been messaging Elle a lot, in the hopes of distracting her from overthinking, and I guess I'm not being particularly covert about it.

"And that's five." Adam announces to the table at lunch on Wednesday.

I must have missed what we were talking about. "Sorry, what?"

"Text messages. That was the fifth you've sent since we sat down, and don't think we don't know to whom they're going. Parker and I have a bet going on whether you'll hit ten before we're done eating, so, please, don't stop on my account, _Noah_."

I roll my eyes at all of them. "Glad to see you have nothing more interesting to talk about."

"More interesting than your recently-revealed secret life and transformation into a lovesick teenager? Unlikely. How is the lovely and glowing Elle?" Gwen asks.

"Great. Mine. Not a subject for lunch gossip."

"Oooh, _touchy_. It's only been three days since she left, you shouldn't be this cranky yet. But now we know why you've been grumpy all winter." Parker laughs.

"If you're wondering why I waited so long to say anything… this. This is why. Tomorrow I'm going to sit with the actual teenagers, because they can't possibly be worse."

Adam is grinning at me from across the table, but he keeps quiet. He seeks me out later, though, and informs me that he's coming over with takeout tonight and has cleared his evening for however long the story takes to tell.

* * *

Telling Adam our story is a weird experience. Some of it I'm not sure I've ever needed to tell anyone before. The high school crowd didn't need to be told that Elle had been in my life forever, but always as Lee's other half, and they definitely didn't need to be told of my track record before Elle, or how unlikely our pairing should have been. But we also never told our classmates what exactly happened, of how we got from that incredibly public first kiss to my ill-fated appearance at prom, or from there to being inseparable. My Harvard friends, on the other hand, never heard any of the high school drama. As far as they knew, Elle and I had been dating forever, and the only challenge we'd faced was that year of long distance before she joined me in Boston. Then they heard about the break up, of course, but only my bitter version of it, and they watched me try very hard to prove to myself and everyone else how very over her I wanted to be. And then October, well - until today Lee and Mickey were the only ones who knew much about that weekend.

So actually telling our story from the start is a new experience, and some of Adam's questions make me rethink things I'd never thought much about before. And some just point out how frequently I've been an idiot.

"So let me get this straight. You went around literally ordering guys not to ask her out, but you didn't realize why? Or did you actually believe this was just normal brotherly protectiveness? Because I have a pack of older sisters, and they never once threatened my crushes. I mean, you didn't go around telling girls not to date Lee, right? That didn't clue you in that maybe, just maybe, you had a different, less brotherly, motive where Elle was involved?" Adam laughs disbelievingly.

"Lee's a guy. I didn't think I needed to worry about him the same way. And don't give me that look, Elle's already informed me how sexist that distinction was. And yeah, I was in denial for a long time. She was Lee's best friend, she'd been in my life forever, and I never once thought of her the same way I thought of all the other girls. It just took a while to figure out that wasn't for the reasons I thought."

Adam's also surprised by the number of my high school stories that involve getting into fights. I suppose it's a good sign if that part of my past seems out of character now. I guess Elle was right about my ability to change. Or maybe _Elle_ was my ability to change.

I downplay Lee's initial opposition to us. We've hashed that out between us and with Elle, and Lee's squarely on our side now, so Adam doesn't need to know how bad it once was.

But I also don't sugarcoat the story for Adam. I'm honest about the difficulties we had with the distance, about the time it took for me to accept Elle would always have guy friends, and for Elle to believe she really was the only girl I wanted. About what an ass I made of myself when Elle turned down Stanford and I made her very sensible decision all about me. About the time it took for us to find the right balance between being together and also having our own independent college lives and friends.

I don't only tell Adam about the hard parts, of course; I also tell him how great things were most of the time. Some of the highlights he already heard on Saturday, when Elle and I were telling stories. Some of it I tell him now, like that summer we practically lived together, Lee for once out our way.

"So _what happened_ , seriously?" Adam interrupts. "Because I know you guys weren't together when you moved here, and from what Elle said this weekend, she's been back in LA for a long time. How did you get from so happy in Boston to whatever was going on before this October? All I know so far is Lee saying you guys had some giant breakup, but he didn't tell us why, other than you being an idiot. And when we asked _you_ about her back then, you practically bit our heads off. But Saturday you told me you've been in love with her for six years. So, what the hell?"

What the hell indeed. I'm not sure the truth is going to make any more sense, but I might as well launch into that chapter of the story.

"First, bear in mind that me being an idiot is Lee's default explanation for everything, especially anything that goes wrong between me and Elle. But he's right in this case. At least mostly."

And so I tell Adam about Mike's accident, about Elle and I rushing back to LA, that sleepless week in the hospital, and then that fight exploding out of nowhere.

"Not that I figured this out until recently, but we were so focused on protecting each other that we didn't actually listen to each other. I couldn't imagine not staying with Elle. It seemed so simple, so obvious. Her family needed her in LA, and we needed to be together. So we'd stay in LA and college would wait. But that's not how she saw it. She'd just had her whole world turned upside down, all her plans interrupted, and she couldn't bear to drag me down with her and wreck my life too, or so she saw it. And neither of us heard what the other was saying. Elle thought I didn't think she could take care of herself, of her family, on her own. That I was sacrificing myself to rescue her when she didn't need rescuing. I thought Elle wasn't taking us seriously if she couldn't understand why I'd want to stay. That maybe we weren't on the same page after all, especially after the whole marriage debacle."

"The _what_? You guys were talking marriage?"

"Not exactly. But I'd let the hospital believe we were married, so the doctors would talk to me, and then when Elle was telling me not to stay in LA, she made this comment about how we weren't _actually_ married. And the way she said it, like the very idea was ridiculous - it felt like a punch in the gut. Like she thought our relationship meant so much less than I did. Because, after that summer… that's where I thought we were headed. So I overreacted, escalated, made everything worse."

"And, Elle just wasn't dealing well in general. I don't think I've told you this yet, but she'd lost her mom already, to cancer, when Elle was fifteen. Almost losing her dad, too, sent her into a tailspin, but I didn't see it then, didn't realize I was making everything worse. That I was making it all about our relationship when I should have just been worrying about Elle. Anyway, it's a long story and not all mine to tell, but the final result was both of us furious and hurt on opposite sides of the country. And we just never made it past that. Until October. Well, we didn't actually make it past that in October, either. I thought we had, but then we basically… reenacted the breakup."

And so we reach this year, and I tell Adam the basics. The closer we get to current events, the less I feel like sharing the details. Elle can tell him more, if she wants. Or maybe I will when this is safely in the rearview mirror.

Adam's finally all caught up, and it's also now incredibly late.

"Alright, I think the next part will have to wait for another day." Adam comments.

"The next part? That's all of it." I think Adam might know more of it than even Lee does, now.

"All of it so far. But this story isn't over, right?"

Ah, I see. "No. Definitely not over." Hopefully not ever over.

"Yeah, that was pretty obvious this weekend. So if you want to talk about what's next, let me know. If you're not too busy texting her like a lovesick teenager. When are you seeing her?"

"Weekend after next, to tell my parents."

"Oooh, that should be fun. But I'm worried you might not survive that long. This level of pining cannot be healthy."

I roll my eyes at him, but no, it's not healthy at all.

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

Dad doesn't ask much about my trip to San Francisco, but it's probably obvious how happy I am. I do tell him Noah's planning to move back to LA, which doesn't seem to surprise him at all, and that we're planning to tell the Flynns in two weeks, which he clearly thinks is just more of my foot dragging. Dad offers to invite the Flynns for Sunday lunch that weekend, and maybe that's the easiest way to break the news, with Dad and Brad there to cheer us on.

I tell Mickey a lot more about the weekend than I told Dad, and having a confidante who's not also Noah's brother is a definite improvement. I mean, Lee and I talk about the weekend too, but there are details best left unshared with him. Like how tempted I was to miss my flight, or how impossibly, frustratingly long two weeks now seems. Those topics I reserve for Mickey.

As for Noah, he seems to be on a mission to keep me too distracted to worry or overthink. The messages roll in every morning when I wake up and whenever he gets a break during the day, mostly casual updates and questions about my day and silly memes, but there's sentimental stuff mixed in too. Old pictures, songs we both loved, references to our favorite adventures. And then there are the messages that I'm sure are intended to drive me crazy. A picture of the Hollywood sign. A mention that he has keys to all the labs at the school, and that none have security cameras. He sends stuff like this at random, unrelated to any part of our conversation, and then moves right back on to other topics, ignoring any exasperated response I send.

As the week stretches on, the prospect of a weekend without Noah feels increasingly depressing. I spent two years getting used to not seeing him, and then five months hiding from him, but now not even two weeks of being back in each other's orbit has me counting the hours until our next visit. I'm almost grateful to the mountain of work I've got to tackle this weekend for providing a distraction.

I spend Friday afternoon and early evening at the library hammering out an outline for a term paper and preparing a research update for my advisor. Around eight my phone buzzes twice, and when I see it's Mickey messaging me, I figure I'm due for a break.

 _You still at the library? Come back to the apartment._

 _You need dinner. Or second dinner, knowing you._

 _I'm channeling my frustration into extreme productivity. But I do need a break. Thai takeout and bad TV?_

 _Sorry, I'm out with the boy._

 _So why did you tell me to come home?_

 _Because I need you to do me a favor and swing by the apartment._

 _Sure, what?_

 _I left something for you. Cookies. I left cookies for you._

 _The favor you need is that you made me cookies?_

 _Yes. Go home._

 _And it's critical I go home_ now _, because there are cookies?_

 _Stop being difficult and just go home, Elle._

 _Oh god, is this a surprise party?_

It's not remotely my birthday. Maybe a baby shower? But Mickey wouldn't spring that on me. At least I hope not. And it's too soon, right?

 _You're so paranoid. I forgot to cover the cookies and don't want another ant invasion. And I'm already at Gabe's._

 _Fine. These cookies better be epic._

 _I'm confident you'll think so._

I'm still a little suspicious I'm going to open my door and walk into a surprise baby shower. Mickey could at least have given me a heads up so I could have worn something cute. But our building did have a gross ant invasion last fall, so maybe Mickey really is just worried about the cookies sitting out too long.

I pause before opening the door to listen carefully. Hearing nothing, I very slowly open the door and peek my head in. The lights are on, there are no decorations, everything looks just as I left it this morning, and I still hear nothing. So it really was just cookies Mickey wanted me to come home for. Except -

"Shelly, why are you creeping into your own apartment like a cat burglar?" 

* * *

_**Apologies for the slightly later than usual upload!**_


	26. The Least Disappointing Lack of Cookies

_**Previously:** I pause before opening the door to listen carefully. Hearing nothing, I very slowly open the door and peek my head in. The lights are on, there are no decorations, everything looks just as I left it this morning, and I still hear nothing. So it really was just cookies Mickey wanted me to come home for. Except -_

 _"Shelly, why are you creeping into your own apartment like a cat burglar?"_

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

Noah. The favor Mickey wanted me to come home for was… Noah.

There are many thoughts crowding my brain as I freeze in the doorway.

That there was probably a violation of Mickey's promise not to intervene without my knowledge involved in making this happen, and that I absolutely, positively do not care if the result is Noah right here, right now.

That Noah looks criminally good in what I'm guessing is the dress shirt he wore to work, and that I really wish I'd known to wear something nicer today than leggings and a baggy tee.

That Mickey better be planning on staying at Gabe's all weekend.

That I really hope we did enough talking last weekend and this week, because I don't feel like talking much tonight.

That I have been standing in this doorway, mouth hanging open, for far too long.

"Shelly, are you waiting to be invited in? Because it's your apartment, you know." Noah's smirk is as pronounced as ever, but there's just a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"You're not cookies." Oh, smooth, Elle. Apparently the intelligent thought part of my brain is still frozen.

"Cookies?" Now Noah looks concerned that I've lost my mind.

"Mickey. She - she told me to come home because she'd made me cookies. But it's you."

"Are you disappointed?" Noah laughs.

He is leaning lazily against the kitchen counter, grinning at me, and suddenly the shock that had frozen me in place evaporates, replaced by delight and desire.

"Not even a little." I drop my bag without looking and try to keep myself from just flat-out running at him.

"Not even a little? I'm touched. I mean, I know how you feel about cookies, Shelly."

"Shut. Up." My hands are in his hair, pulling him down to me, and I set to wiping that smug look from his face the best way I know how. He'd waited almost impossibly calmly while I babbled ridiculously in the doorway, but now he springs into motion, lifting me up and spinning us around to sit me on the counter.

It's a while before we say anything again, but there's always been something about kissing Noah that leaves me unable to filter the random comments that cross my mind.

"Mickey's gone, right?"

His only answer is a muttered chuckle that sounds like "I damn well hope so" as he kisses his way down my neck.

Now his lips are busy at my collarbone, so there's nothing to keep mine from rambling. "What happened to two weeks?"

"It was a stupid plan."

"We're going to rack up a lot of frequent flyer miles, aren't we?"

"Millions."

"I can't believe I didn't realize what Mickey was plotting."

Noah's mouth crashes back down on mine, possibly in an attempt to stop the babbling, but I'm not complaining.

As irresistible as his crisp dress shirt looks on him, I find myself wishing it were a bit less impenetrable now that I want it _off_ him; there are too damn many buttons standing in my way. My outfit may not win me any fashion awards, but it's at least proving far friendlier to Noah's roving hands. I give up on the stupid tiny buttons and instead try to untuck his shirt, but this time I'm _too_ successful: the shirt pulls free more easily than expected and my excess momentum sends me falling back against the cabinet in what cannot have been my most graceful moment.

"Would it be terribly forward of me to point out that I have a bed and that beds are more comfortable than kitchen counters?" I mutter in embarrassment, rubbing at the back of my head.

"You're going to need to be even more forward and lead the way to your room, because I'm new here." He's laughing as he says it, but the truth of his comment hits me hard. Noah's only been to my apartment once before, two weeks ago, and that night just making eye contact was daunting.

Two weeks. It feels like we've moved mountains since Noah turned up at my door that weekend, angry and confused, but it's still only been two weeks. Not even. Thirteen days.

"Shell?" Noah's noticed my sudden hesitation, and he pulls back to see me better.

"Are we moving too fast?" I hate to ask it, but I can't screw this up again. "Don't get me wrong. I want this. I want you. I've been thinking of nothing else all week. But two weeks ago we hadn't spoken in five months. And that might have been because we rushed and got distracted instead of talking, the last time we tried this whole reunion thing."

He leans his forehead to mine; his hands, which had been teasing ever higher, are now simply splayed across my upper back, holding me close. "This isn't last time. We're already light-years ahead of last time. And while I'll admit you can be rather distracting, I don't plan to stop talking about all the things we need to talk about just because we're also… doing more than talking. But if it feels too fast to you, if it's making you worry, then we'll wait."

"It's not making me worry, not really. But maybe just - making me worry whether I _should_ be worrying. Whether the wrong parts of my brain are making this decision. I don't want to screw this up again. I can't. I can't do it to you, or me, or… Dino."

"I don't think how far we take this tonight is going to change the stakes of getting this right. But we are going to. Get this right, I mean. We're not done talking, Shelly. I don't think we ever will be done talking. Or that we'd want to be. But I do believe that we can trust ourselves here."

I close my eyes and block out every thought but Noah. I think about how many years I've loved him, acknowledged or not, together or not. I think about the fact that the only thing that's ever split us has been not listening to each other. I think about how far we've come in just two weeks of actually listening.

"Yeah. I trust us too." I finally admit. I push Noah back slightly so I can slide off the counter, then take his hand and pull him with me.

"Shelly?"

"You said I needed to lead the way. I assumed that meant you'd follow?"

* * *

I wish I could pause to commit every moment to memory. The familiar moments and those wholly new; the wanton and the tender and the silly.

When we get into my room and Noah pushes the door closed as he so often did, by falling back against it as he scoops me up into closer reach.

When Noah finally glances up at the room after a few minutes of dedicated distraction by the door, and groans at the sight of the twin bed. "Undergraduate housing," I remind him wryly. "We have got to get you graduated," he mutters.

When Noah sets me down to free me of my shirt, and I suddenly remember the changes since he last saw me, and wonder how he'll react. That question is answered as his eyes first widen, like he'd forgotten that detail in our rush, then blaze again as he sinks to his knees to trail kisses from my shoulder down to every new curve.

When I fall back onto my bed and pull Noah down with me, and our limbs wrap and entwine reflexively, like they've never forgotten their preferred arrangement.

When Noah suddenly pauses, a hand at my belly, and asks with uncharacteristic timidity if what we're doing is okay, and I laugh and assure him it is.

When I realize that no matter how vivid, how exalted, how glorious my memories had been, the reality is better.

* * *

I wake wrapped in Noah's arms, and I can tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he's awake too. I nestle back against his chest and sigh happily.

"Mmmm. You didn't run away this morning."

"You thought I might?" His voice is still sleep-rough.

"Not actually run away. But last weekend, you kept sneaking out of bed before I woke up."

"Ah, yes. Well, I was still avoiding certain dangers last weekend."

"Dangers?"

"I knew what would happen if I lingered in bed. If I waited long enough for you to wake and start up with your wriggling and sighing and your whole morning temptress routine."

"Mmmm, I'm not sure I know what you mean." I press my back even more firmly against him. "Illuminate me."

He's flipped us and his lips are on mine before I can finish saying it.

We don't actually get up for quite a long while.

* * *

We do eventually make it out of bed. There's only so long I can be distracted from breakfast and coffee, after all, and Noah offers to get those started while I shower. My phone rings as I walk back into the living room after getting dressed, and it's Lee. I wonder if his special meddlesome spidey sense has alerted him that Noah is here.

"What's up?" I answer.

"Just checking in on my favorite mopey friend. You seemed pretty down yesterday. Have you managed to distract yourself from pining for my loser brother?"

I can't help it. I start giggling and can't stop as I look over to my kitchen where said brother is currently making me breakfast. Shirtless. I think I've been properly distracted from my pining.

"Elle?"

I still can't breathe enough to answer Lee. Now Noah's noticed and wandered over.

"I'm - I'm good." I finally manage to tell Lee. _Lee_ , I mouth to Noah. Noah's eyes light up and he snatches my phone faster than I can stop him.

"Hey Lee." When they add Noah's picture to the dictionary entry for _smirk_ , as they inevitably will, I hope this exact expression is the one they pick. Or maybe there will be a series of sub entries, and this face will go under _smirk, smug_. He does have a range.

I can't quite hear Lee's exasperated spluttering in response. Noah easily fends off my attempts to grab my phone back, but puts it on speaker instead.

"I should have guessed. Should I congratulate you for at least making it all the way to the weekend? Oh God, please tell me I'm not interrupting something. No, don't tell me anything, actually. I'm hanging up now."

"Lee, no, wait - don't hang up. Noah, my phone, please!"

Noah, clearly satisfied he's caused enough trouble, returns my phone before getting back to whatever he'd been doing in the kitchen.

"Hey. Sorry about that. You're not interrupting anything other than breakfast." Good thing he didn't call a half hour earlier.

"Am I still on speaker?"

"No. It's just me."

"So I see I needn't have worried about you being lonely this weekend."

"But it was still sweet of you to check on me. Noah showed up last night without warning. Well, without warning to me; he and Mickey conspired. Did Mickey not loop you in?"

"Evidently not. But if you were whining half as much to her as you were to me, I'm not surprised she intervened."

I was actually whining far _more_ to Mickey, and about topics Lee does not want to hear about, but no need to tell him that.

"Was I really that bad?"

"Yeah, you really were that bad. So now… things are okay?"

I can practically hear him cringing as he awaits my answer.

"Yeah, things are good." I say softly. "I know you don't want any details, but we're good. And we talked first, this time. I promise you."

"I think you just answered a question I had no intention of asking. Ugh. I need brain bleach."

"You're going to have to get used to it. Again."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm trying to remind myself of all the reasons why you two together is actually less terrible than the alternative. I should write them down, because I'm going to need frequent reminders."

"You'll live." I say dryly.

"All kidding aside, Elle - I'm happy you're happy. And if you want to talk about it, I'm here. With the brain bleach."

"I'll take you up on that, but another day."

"When I'm not distracting you from my idiot brother and his inexplicable appeal?"

"Yeah. And maybe we can also talk about _your_ ladyfriend next time. I'm a little sick of only talking about my drama."

"About damn time. You know, I have a lot of drama to discuss too. Okay, maybe not quite baby-mama-drama type drama, thank God, but still."

"I'm sure. I'm hanging up now. I'll call you this week once your brother isn't lounging around my apartment shirtless."

" _ELLE_."

I can't help it. He makes it too easy.

* * *

For some reason Noah insists that he wants to have lunch at Paolo's today, and seems oddly impatient to get there. We've eaten there before, years ago and usually with our families, but I don't recall it being any particular favorite of Noah's, or the scene of any memorable moments, so I'm not sure why he's set on it today, or so concerned about being on time. But I'm also never one to say no to a mountain of pasta, especially not right now, so I go along with it. The mystery is solved soon after we've been seated, when I spot June parking her car across the street from the restaurant.

"Noah! Did you… set this up?"

His guilty smile says it all. "I meant it when I said you should tell my mom as soon as possible. You shouldn't have to keep this from her. And you insisted we do it together, so, here we are."

Incredibly sweet, and incredibly meddling. His signature move.

"And are you sticking around for this lunch? Or is this your brilliant plan to let me handle telling your mom that you knocked me up?" June is crossing the street. I estimate that we have thirty more seconds to strategize this.

"Whoa whoa whoa, what happened to not liking that expression because it was a joint endeavor?" Oh, wipe that smirk off your face, Noah. "And second, I do plan to leave you two to your girly discussions, but not because I'm chicken. So you have about… ten seconds to decide if you want to tell her, or if I should."

June is walking in the door, and Noah stands to wave her over. I awkwardly stay seated, as I'm pretty sure standing up to hug June would immediately end the "who tells June" debate.

To say June looks surprised to see me at the table with Noah would be an understatement, but she immediately breaks into a huge smile.

"Elle! I had no idea you'd be here! It's been far too long since I've seen you. And even longer since I've seen the two of you in the same location." June eyes us shrewdly.

I feel my cheeks blaze, but Noah is unfazed. He quirks his eyebrows at me, evidently awaiting my decision. I sheepishly gesture at him to go ahead.

"Well, better get used to seeing us together again. Especially if you're planning on spending a lot of time with your grandchild, but I'll let Elle tell you about that. Now you two have a nice lunch." And with that, a grinning Noah kisses June's cheek and starts to walk away.


	27. The Longest Lunch

_**Previously:**_ " **Well, better get used to seeing us together again. Especially if you're planning on spending a lot of time with your grandchild, but I'll let Elle tell you about that. Now you two have a nice lunch." And with that, a grinning Noah kisses June's cheek and starts to walk away.**

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

June's jaw drops, and then her whole face flashes with fury as she sets her hands at her hips.

"Noah Flynn, get your butt back to this table." She's not technically _yelling_ , her voice is at a perfectly reasonable volume, but her tone is unmistakable.

I watch Noah freeze, then turn to face us with his best innocent smile.

"I was thinking I'd let you two catch up. Since it's been so long. And this is really more of a girl thing."

"Sit. Down."

If you've ever wondered why Noah's always trying to use his mom to win arguments with me—that June would kill him if she found out he let me sleep on the couch; that June would kill him if I moved to San Francisco—it's because he really does fear his mom to an endearing extent. Not that he actually believes June would ever hurt anyone, because that's not her style. But does he really believe he'd never ever hear the end of it? That she'd guilt him, needle him, wear him down slowly but surely? Yes. And is that belief reasonable? Probably also yes. So this should be fun.

Noah knows he's lost. He pulls a third chair up to the table and plunks himself down on it, looking vaguely sheepish.

"Now sit and be quiet while I talk to Elle." June turns her attention back to me now, and her expression instantly transforms from furious to overcome.

"Elle? Are you really?" Her voice is somewhere between disbelief and awe.

It's all I can do to nod, my voice failing me.

"Oh, Elle, honey." June's tearing up as she reaches for my hand and pulls me up for a hug. I let her wrap me in her arms and I'm so, so glad Noah forced this meeting because I have been needing this hug for a long time. And here come my own tears, because right now even soup commercials get me crying, so you can guess the effect of June holding me tightly and whispering how happy she is.

June finally pulls back and takes a long look at me, her eyes sweeping appraisingly over me. "Six months?"

"Almost," I admit.

"Well, sit down sweetie, because this is going to be a long lunch by the time you two get me caught up on this little development and why I'm just now hearing about it." June is smiling warmly, but she fixes both of us with a steady gaze that is just a little terrifying as she sits down across from me.

"It's my fault you didn't know until now. Not Noah's. He didn't even know until - " I blurt out.

June's eyebrows rise at the start of my outburst, but I clam up when the waitress suddenly appears. Once she's taken our drink orders and disappeared, Noah jumps in before I can finish my admission.

"Elle and I needed time to figure some stuff out before telling you. But we're telling you now."

"And you're telling me this together?"

I can't help but look at Noah and then back at June, confused. "Yes? Since you didn't let him get away with his disappearing act?"

"No, I mean - should I indeed be getting used to seeing the two of you together again, as Noah said before trying that disappearing act? And not your ridiculous avoidance routine of the past two years? Although, clearly you haven't been avoiding each other _entirely_."

I can feel my cheeks flame, and I look up to see that Noah's actually blushing too. If there's one person who can rattle his otherwise unflappable confidence, it's June.

"You should get used to seeing us together again, yes." I admit.

"Because of this baby? Which I am guessing was a surprise turn of events?" June is not one to beat around the bush.

This time it's Noah who jumps in to answer. "No. Maybe with help from it, but not _because_ of it. We were being idiots and I guess you could say this news made us see that. But it didn't change any of our feelings. They didn't need changing." I'm grateful to him for finding a graceful way to put it, and I reach for his hand.

"We had tried to... reconcile this fall, but we kind of made a mess of it again. Except _this_ also happened. And so we're figuring it out now, instead of however long it would have taken otherwise. But we would have eventually." I add.

June is still staring steadily at us, and there's a long pause before she laughs. "Joni would be thrilled to take credit for all of this, you realize."

" _What?_ " We both splutter.

"Please. You two have never been as good at hiding as you think you are, and I can count backwards on a calendar. I got back from visiting Lee last October to find a note from Noah in the kitchen, saying he'd been in town to visit friends. But I was pretty sure I recognized the shirt I found in the dryer."

Damn it. I'd realized I'd left that shirt behind not long after getting home that awful day, but I wasn't exactly going to call Noah about it.

"And then when I went to bring Joni belated flowers for her birthday that week, I saw I wasn't the first. The ones from Elle I wasn't surprised by, but the others, and the name on that card, were more intriguing. She'd have loved those daisies, by the way."

"I told him that too." I admit. Noah's smiling slightly, but we're both still eyeing June uneasily, wondering exactly how much she'd figured out and when.

"So I hoped you two had finally gotten some sense into you and started talking again, and I figured you'd tell us soon enough. Except you never did, and then at Thanksgiving Noah and Lee were glaring at each other nonstop, and there's only ever one reason for that."

"And then Christmas came and for the first time in ages you both said you were coming to family dinner, so I got my hopes up again, but then Noah begged off at the last minute. I'll admit that's as far as I got with my suspicions. That you'd seen each other but hadn't managed to work things out. _This_ development, though, hadn't exactly crossed my mind. Elle, is this why we hadn't seen you lately?"

I nod sheepishly.

"Please tell me at least your dad knows?"

"Yeah, Dad knows. And he's been after me to tell you for ages. He'd want me to mention that. And I'm so sorry for not telling you until now. But I had to tell Noah first, and - "

"And I didn't make it easy for Elle to tell me, so we needed some time. But we're good now. And we're telling you now." Noah interrupts me.

He's bending the truth to take the blame off of me. I'll probably end up telling June everything anyway, but I appreciate the sentiment.

June eyes us both carefully; she knows there's more to the story. Finally she reaches out to squeeze our joined hands, leaving her hand over ours.

"Look, your relationship… you know we've all tried to stay out of whatever went wrong. I've always hoped you two would work it out, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that outcome seems even more desirable now. But that's for you two to figure out. What I need to know is that you're over whatever had you avoiding each other for so long. Because that's not going to be an option any more. Even if you're not together, you're going to have to be in _this_ together. Which means talking when something goes wrong, not hiding. And if you start going down that road again, I won't be staying out of it this time."

June's interrupted by the waitress showing up to take our orders. I don't think any of us have so much as glanced at a menu yet, and we awkwardly scramble to figure out what we want. Finally the waitress leaves us alone again and I eye June warily, wondering how much more of a lecture we're going to get. Not that I disagree with anything she's said.

"Anyway, that's all I'm going to say. I want what I've always wanted, which is for both of you to be happy, however that shakes out, but I'll admit I'll be even gladder for you two to be happy _together_. Especially now. So I'm very glad to see you both taking this news so well. Because it deserves this reaction. This is the best news, the very best."

Now June is getting teary again and I'm sniffling too.

"The best news, even if _this one_ tried to run away from telling me." She adds, glaring pointedly at Noah.

"I did not! I _told_ you, first, and _then_ I tried to let you two have this moment. Because I know Elle's missed you and it's my fault she'd been avoiding you. I did not 'run away' from anything!" Noah is mildly indignant.

"You didn't think I'd want to have this moment with you, too? My baby, having a baby?"

Watching Noah with his mom has always been one of my favorite things, because he could grow another foot and ride around in another dozen ridiculous motorcycles and he would still be June's tiny precious baby, as far as she's concerned. She's not nearly as bad with Lee, and I wonder if it's a firstborn thing.

"Yeah, I'm realizing that now. And I'd been hoping the grandchild thing would buy me a lot of forgiveness." He's back to the innocent smile.

"You realize there's one more person who needs to find out about this grandchild, right?"

"Yeah. And that's why the original plan was to visit next weekend, when Dad's back. But then I didn't want Elle to have to wait any longer to tell you, so I flew down sooner."

Sure Noah, that's definitely the only reason you flew down a week ahead of schedule. But that's not a topic for lunch with June.

"So what _is_ your plan for telling him? I hope not another attempt to make Elle handle it alone?"

"For the last time, _I wasn't trying to make Elle handle this_ _alone_." Poor Noah. June is absolutely never going to let him live this down.

"For the record, _I_ 'm not mad." I smile at him. "But I will be if you try to pull this with your dad. Anyway, I'm the one who wanted to do all this in person. Noah would have just called you guys and told you already if I'd let him. But if you think Matthew will be mad to be the last to know, I don't mind if we call him now."

" _Is_ he the last to know?" June asks. "So I assume Lee knows?"

The look that crosses Noah's face at the mention of Lee isn't an entirely happy one. Lee finding out first clearly still bothers him, and I can't blame him. But then he surprises me by laughing it off and answering June before I can.

"Yeah, Lee knows, and you'll be shocked to hear he's already gone full tilt crazy into his new uncle role."

"Of course he has. And Brad must be excited too?"

Now it's my turn to laugh. "Brad is thrilled… about Noah being around again. Being an uncle, meh."

"What _is_ your plan for being around, if I may ask?" Ah, back to blunt June.

"I'm moving here as soon as the school year's over. I gave notice yesterday."

Well, that's news to me. Noah could maybe have mentioned that he'd gone and done that. But I guess we were distracted last night.

"And then?"

"And then I find a place to live and a job and… I'm around."

I'm fairly certain Noah's planning to be more than merely "around," but that's a topic the two of us we need to address, and I know it's my fault he's been loath to bring it up.

"We haven't talked about living arrangements yet." I tell June. "But we know we need to. And we'll tell you once we figure it out."

The arrival of our food cuts off the awkward silence. June is the first to speak up afterward, and apparently she's eager to move on from the awkwardness too.

"Okay, enough of all that. I'm going to trust you two to get this right, and if you don't, that's when I'll start meddling. But for right now, I need more details about my grandchild. Like a due date. And whether I'm finally going to get to shop for tiny dresses."

I can't help but smile. I might have no idea what I'll do if faced with a baby girl, but June clearly has two and a half decades' worth of pent-up plans.

"July 18. And I don't know what it is yet. But I have some pictures, if you want." I reach for my phone and find the recent scan when Dino was waving.

"Oh, wow." June looks like she might cry again, then rallies. "These are so much better now than when I was pregnant. But they must be able to tell the sex at this point, no? Are you waiting to be surprised when it's born?"

"Not exactly. When they did that scan I didn't want to know, because… that was before I'd told Noah." Noah shoots me a look, and I know he was trying to stay vague about the timeline, but I don't want to lie to June. "But I was planning to ask at my next appointment. Since I know it's in the ultrasound report. And I do really want to know, now."

June is looking at both of us like she's trying to make her mind up about something, but in the end I'm the one who decides to just say it.

"Noah only found out two weeks ago. That's why it's taken so long to tell you. _I_ didn't figure it out for three months, because I'm an idiot, and then I was… not ready to tell him yet. Or anyone else. Which is why you haven't seen me in so long." I'm staring down at my iced tea, nervously swirling the straw, unwilling to meet either of their eyes.

"You've been dealing with this all alone? Oh Elle, I wish I'd known."

"I wasn't entirely alone. My roommate Mickey, she's pretty great. And she's the one who figured out I was pregnant, when I was still ignoring the obvious."

"You wouldn't be the first woman to miss the signs. At least that must mean you had an easy time of it? If you weren't feeling sick enough to notice?"

"Not that easy. But I wasn't puking, and I thought everything else—the exhaustion, the feeling like crap, the crying all the time—was just school stress. And being sad. About having… screwed this up again. Seeing Noah in October, I mean."

"You didn't - " Noah tries to jump in, but I cut him off.

"I _did_ screw it up. And you did too. We both did. But let's spare your mom those details."

There's an awkward pause, and then I go on.

"Anyway, so that's the whole ridiculous story. I know Noah was trying to make the timeline sound less bad, but you were going to figure it out at some point. I was three months along by the time I found out, and then I didn't manage to tell Noah until he showed up at UCLA two weeks ago."

June has turned to Noah now. "So the nagging did finally work." She's giving him a look and now I'm curious.

Noah rolls his eyes at June before turning back to me. "Mom is referring to the fact that when she found out I was headed to UCLA for the weekend she tried to get me to go see you."

"Is that not what happened?" June inquires.

"Do _you_ want to tell her, Elle? Since you're the one on the full disclosure kick." There's the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, and I wonder if we're edging closer to the story being funny. But even if it isn't yet, I just don't feel like lying to June.

"I had no idea Noah was on campus. I went swimming. Noah went swimming. I didn't notice him there but he saw me, and the news announced itself, I guess."

"You two really never could do anything the easy way, could you? And if you hadn't run into each other, then what?"

June's question is a hard one. Where _would_ we be if coincidence hadn't lent a hand?

I look down at my plate and shove my pasta around before replying. "I was actually sitting down to call Lee when I got your message, after the pool. To talk about how to tell you. It would have been really soon. I promise."

Noah reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "Hey. I know that."

"Lee told you that, too?" Of course he did.

"I meant I know you would have told me soon, even if we hadn't run into each other. But yeah, Lee also mentioned that."

I look up at June. "Lee's first act as an uncle was to fly across the country to go spill all my secrets to Noah. Because he was worried we wouldn't get things straight if left to our own devices."

"You know you two have put him in a pretty impossible position, these last couple years."

"Yeah. He's reminded me of that a few hundred times." I admit.

"Funny, I never got the impression his loyalties were at all divided." Noah chuckles.

"Alright, I promise I'm not trying to escape this topic, but I need the restroom. As usual." June is laughing in sympathy; she's been there. "If the waitress comes back while I'm gone, I want whatever dessert has the most chocolate in it."

* * *

 _ **(Noah)**_

I can sense Mom waiting to pounce as we watch Elle walk away.

"Noah Flynn, you had better be glad you pulled this stunt with the best news you could tell me." She looks equal parts furious and thrilled despite herself.

"Am I forgiven yet?" I smile at her.

"Not quite. Once you tell your father, and without resorting to any shenanigans or making Elle do it."

"No problem. But first I need Elle to decide if she still wants it to be in person, or if she was only insisting on that when she thought we'd be telling you then, too."

Mom reaches for my hand from across the table and smiles. "I did wonder if your out of the blue visit and lunch invitation was going to involve Elle somehow. But I really hadn't imagined this announcement."

"Neither had I, two weeks ago."

"I'd say you had at least _some_ reason to think this was a possibility." She's giving me a pointed look.

"Are you going to give me that lecture again?" Dad had been in charge of _the_ talk, way way back when, but when Mom found out about me and Elle there was a super uncomfortable, extra threatening, very special conversation about not getting ourselves into this exact situation.

"Shouldn't I? It clearly didn't make enough of an impression."

I could point out we _were_ being careful, but that's just too much sharing. "I seem to recall you threatened to kill me if this happened before we finished college. And Elle graduates in June, so, technically…" I give her my best winning smile.

"You're just lucky Joni's birthday isn't a month earlier." But she can't help but laugh as she says it. "How are you doing with this news, really? I can see you two are back to gazing at each other, but a baby is big news to adjust to. Especially an unexpected one."

"It's a little terrifying, and the circumstances aren't how I would have planned this, but how could I not be happy about it—I mean, it's Elle, you know?"

"I do know. But that didn't stop you from spending two years avoiding each other."

"Trust me when I say those two years have been the subject of recent conversation. Extensive conversation."

"Productive conversation?"

"Yeah. I think so. And some of it is Elle's story to tell, so I'll leave it to her."

There's silence, and I wonder how much more to tell her.

"I actually would appreciate it if you talked to Elle about how she's doing. Not with me around, I mean. This can't be easy for her, and I think she's trying to act more confident than she feels. But maybe she'll tell you."

"Oh, I planned on a lot of conversations with Elle. But what about you? Are you admitting any of _your_ worries to her?"

Mom knows me too well. I give her a half smile as I answer. "Not entirely. She needs me to be the calm one right now."

"Are you talking to anyone else? Lee, or any friends?"

"Yeah. Both."

"Good. Poor Lee. He must be knee deep in the middle of this already. And let him know I know, because now I realize why he was so tense the last time we talked. I asked him if he knew why Elle had been dodging family lunches and he practically choked on his drink."

Mom takes a long drink from her glass before staring me down again.

"Noah, I love you dearly, but if you screw this up I will kill you myself. Not that I think you will. But just so we're clear on the stakes here."

"Crystal."

Elle's reappearance rescues us, and Mom seems to be done interrogating us about our plans and our relationship for the moment. Instead she's got a million questions for Elle about the pregnancy and how she's been feeling. It's exactly the kind of conversation I know Elle had been needing my mom for, and it's exactly why I'd set up this lunch. But I don't mind having been forced to stay. I wish I hadn't missed all the stuff Elle is recounting, but at least I'm getting to hear about it now.

Letting the two of them chat also gives me a chance to think through the rest of my plans for the weekend. The obvious appeal of seeing Elle sooner and my plan to make this lunch happen weren't actually my only reasons for flying down. I've got Harvard friends here working for companies I'm interested in, and we've made plans to hang out this weekend and talk about job leads. I know Dad would be only too glad to send me to talk to _his_ friends, but I'd rather try to work my own network first.

We finally make it out of the restaurant and back to Elle's car after several rounds of hugging and tears from my mom, not to mention more nagging to decide how and when we're telling Dad.

Elle drops her head dramatically back against the headrest as she sits down, closing her eyes and making no move to start the car.

"I think I need a nap. To recover. That was… a lot."

"You think it was a lot for you? You missed out on all the grilling while you were in the bathroom."

"Oh yeah? Anything good?"

"Threats of another safe sex lecture. A warning there'd be hell to pay if I screw this up. The usual. You are her favorite, after all."

"Are you kidding? Did you miss the 'my baby, having a baby' part? Please. You always were and always will be her favorite. Just ask Lee."

"I can't believe she's known about October this whole time and managed not to say anything. And seriously, what is with you and forgetting shirts? Do you just… leave a trail of them behind wherever you go?"

"What? No!"

"Really? Have you wondered yet where your sleep shirt from last weekend is?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, I know where it is. And it better be right where I left it. It's there to warn all the other girls."

"All none of them?"

"So the shirt is doing its job. Good." She's still flopped back against the seat, but I can see her grinning.

"Maybe _I_ need to start leaving shirts all over your apartment."

Now she sits up to look at me. "Seriously? You think you need to mark your territory _more_? This belly is sufficient, I assure you. You've even cost me my cookie friend."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"This guy in my history seminar. He used to always bring cookies and share them with me. And then he'd ask me to lunch after class, and I'd say no, and it would be a little awkward, but he still kept bringing cookies. But apparently _this_ finally discouraged him. And now I have to bring my own snacks to class."

"I'm not even remotely sorry. Are there any other suitors I need to scare away?"

"No, that was it."

"Good."

"So, I don't know what you had planned for this afternoon, but I wasn't kidding about needing a nap to recover from lunch. And as much as I hate to say it, at some point I need to finish some work. Will I be ruining any more surprise plans of yours if I just drive us back to my place?"

"They wouldn't be surprise plans if I told you, now would they?"

" _Noah_."

"Yes, drive us back. And yes, go ahead and nap and do your work if you need to. That actually works out well, because there are some friends I was going to try to meet up with. But if you think you can spare some time away from your homework this evening, I wouldn't mind your company, although I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of any surprise plans."


	28. Necessary Conversations

_**(Noah)**_

Elle wasn't kidding about needing a nap. She curls up next to me on the couch when we get back and by the time I've sent off messages to the friends who'd said they could meet this weekend she's asleep, her head propped on my leg. I don't think I'd realized how much the pregnancy is affecting her until hearing the stories she told my mom today, and I'm frustrated by how little help I can offer right now. Even if I move back the day classes are over, she'll still have been on her own for nearly the whole pregnancy. Well, not entirely on her own. She's had Mickey, and then her dad, and I'm sure my mom will be driving her nuts with attention now. But I haven't been there. I didn't know, of course, but reminding myself of that doesn't actually help—I'd have known if I hadn't been too proud to call first. Or if I hadn't been so all or nothing to begin with.

I hear back from a couple friends and we agree to meet in an hour not far from Elle's apartment. Hopefully by then she won't get too mad if my departure from the couch cuts short her nap. In the meantime I scroll through my calendar and try to figure out if there are any weekends I _can't_ fly down, because otherwise I'm planning to make this a weekly trip.

A message from Lee arrives about a half hour into Elle's nap.

 _Just talked to mom. She's basically delirious. Congrats on continued most favored son status._

 _What can I say, weak competition._

 _Hilarious. But seriously, no way I'd get this reaction if I knocked up my gf._

 _The difference is Elle. Not me. She's the favorite._

 _When you put it that way it just makes this weirder._

 _You're the only one still hung up on this._

 _How is that favorite child doing? She's ignoring my messages again._

 _Napping. Two hours with Mom is a whole lot of Mom._

 _You sure you want to move back to LA and Mom striking distance?_

 _Better hope so because I resigned already._

 _Finally going to make Dad happy and get a real job?_

 _Teaching is a real job. Just not one he likes. And what about you, joining the family business after graduation?_

Dad has a narrow definition of real job, mostly involving the size of the paycheck. He got his start the old-fashioned way—nepotism, rising through the ranks of the company his own father founded. Then, after that company went public, Dad plowed his share of the windfall into co-founding a tech venture capital firm. He's always made it clear he expects me and Lee to follow, and while we did pick Dad-approved engineering majors, we've both steadily rebuffed his attempts to bring us into the fold. That's why I'm meeting with these friends today, to try and network my way to a job not beholden to Dad or Dad's buddies. I don't mean to sound ungrateful for all Dad's done or the advantages his and granddad's money have given us, but I'd like to do something that's my own, and Lee seems to be of the same mind.

 _Still weighing options. But no, not with Dad. What's your plan?_

 _Working on it. Ask me in a few weeks._

 _Have you talked to Elle about it?_

 _Also working on that._

 _TALK TO HER_

 _Right this minute? No, she's asleep. But chill, we will._

I don't need Lee's nagging to know these are discussions Elle and I need to be having. Not just about what I'll be doing, but what she's planned for herself. She'd had such big dreams when we started college, and I don't want her giving up on them. We just haven't gotten that far yet in our long list of of necessary discussions. Our living arrangements also need discussing soon, especially after that awkward moment at lunch.

I've told Elle I'm moving to LA, but so far I've avoided phrasing it as moving in _with_ her. There's the issue of Elle's reaction the last times I suggested something like this, and then there's the weirdness of our status. The weirdness of having six years of history and yet having just barely begun again. It's also becoming clear to me that Elle hates the idea that any of our decisions are being forced or accelerated by our situation. So while it should be incredibly obvious that the best way for me to be there for Elle and take on my share of responsibility would be for me to... _be_ there, living with her, I need her to come to that conclusion on her own and without feeling forced into it.

* * *

Elle wakes herself from her nap not long before I need to head out to meet my friends.

"I wasn't sure you'd still be here. How long was I asleep?" Elle sits herself halfway up, leaning her head on my shoulder.

"A solid hour. Feeling any better?"

"Much. Did you get something scheduled with your friends?"

"Yeah—I should leave in a few minutes."

"Any friends I would know?"

"Joe Cortez from the team. You'd recognize him if you saw him. And Natalie I'm certain you remember."

"Theo's Natalie? I liked her. She lives here now?"

"She stopped being Theo's Natalie a long time ago, but yeah. She'd probably love to see you again, if you want me to put you in touch."

"Yeah, say hi for me."

"How long do you want me to clear out of here so you can work?" Elle hasn't yet moved to get up from the couch, still draped drowsily on my shoulder.

"I don't _want_ you to clear out at all. But I'd feel better about the week if you gave me until seven. Does that work with whatever you have planned?"

"Yeah, about that... I was only teasing earlier, about having more surprises planned. I hadn't actually planned anything other than... being here with you. Since that's still pretty novel by itself. Do I need to come up with a more elaborate plan?"

"No. You being here is more than special enough." She's looking up at me with a soft smile that has me reconsidering all our afternoon plans. But no, we've both got work to do.

* * *

Joe and Natalie both beat me to the coffee shop and we spend a while catching up. Natalie and I have kept in touch occasionally since graduation, but Joe was two years ahead of us and we haven't talked much since he left Harvard. He's apparently recently engaged and eager to vent about wedding planning.

"So basically we're going to need to elope to avoid our parents driving us nuts for the next year. Seriously. Never get married. Or, like, get married, but never have a wedding."

"Thanks, but I'm in no danger of needing your sage advice," Natalie laughs. "I'd settle for meeting someone who isn't blatantly swiping through his hookup apps while we're supposed to be on a date. Post-college dating _sucks_."

"What about you? You're not still with your high school girl, are you? Ellen, right?" Joe asks.

Natalie grimaces and jumps in faster than I can.

"You mean Elle, but nooooooo, don't bring her up. He'll get all cranky on us."

"Actually - " I try to answer, but Natalie cuts me off.

"Oh, don't deny it. You were unbearable senior year."

"Bad breakup?" Joe asks.

"Yeah, but - "

"The worst. She dumped him and he moped for months." Natalie continues to helpfully contribute.

"That's too bad. She was cute." Joe comments, and I can't help but glare at him. It's a reflex.

"She _is_ cute." I finally manage to finish a sentence without being interrupted.

My comment flies right over Joe's head, but Natalie cocks her head in curiosity. " _Is_ cute, present tense?"

I grin at her.

"No. You're kidding. Really?"

"Yep."

"How have _none_ of us heard about this yet?"

"Unlike you, some of us don't post every detail of our lives online." True, even if not really why my Harvard friends haven't heard about this yet.

"Wait, is this why you're moving back here? Is she still in LA?"

"Yeah. She said to say hi, by the way."

"Wow. So you're not just back together, you're, like, moving-for-her back together? Were you planning on, I don't know, telling any of us? I mean, I always liked Elle. Other than the part when she dumped you."

"Yeah, about that... there was more to it than I told you all, back then. So maybe avoid the dumping talk when you see her."

"Well, now I'm very motivated to help you find a job. I need you to move here ASAP so I can see Elle again and find out what the heck else you've been hiding all this time."

I have to laugh at that one. Natalie looks stunned enough, no need yet to blow her mind with the rest of our news.

"That _was_ the point of this get-together, I thought. So yeah, let's get talking."

* * *

I've got an hour left to kill after Joe and Natalie are gone, and I debate again whether to come up with some kind of elaborate plan for tonight. That was always my thing, to show up on Fridays after Elle's last class with some adventure planned for us, and I find myself wanting to slip back into all our best habits. But I don't want another meal out with constant interruptions from a waiter, or anywhere too noisy to talk, and some inconvenient rain rules out outdoor plans. And we really do need to just talk, so staying in is probably for the best. Thankfully, I have an inside source to tap—Mickey. One phone call later, I've got very specific instructions on where to pick up dinner and what to order for Elle. I'm also attempting to extract intel on more important topics, but that conversation isn't working out as well.

"You realize this is getting awful close to talking behind Elle's back, right? Which she made me promise not to do?" Mickey reminds me.

"I believe you promised not to _meddle_. Which merely providing your impressions wouldn't be." I argue back.

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure I have much useful information in any case. I think Elle was putting off figuring out where to live after graduation until she'd dealt with telling you. And we all know how long that took." Mickey laughs dryly. "So I'm not sure she had a plan yet. If you weren't moving here, I don't know. I think she'd probably move home. But I assumed you moving here meant you'd be living together?"

"Sure, that would be the obvious, rational conclusion. But..."

"But you think Elle's going to get weird about it if you bring it up?"

"Basically."

"Give her more credit. Yeah, she freaked out the other times, I get it. But you realize I know that because she told me about those times, right? She's well aware of how things played out before. So stop avoiding the subject and give her a chance to react better this time."

* * *

And of course, Mickey was right that I should have given Elle more credit, because it's Elle who beats me to the punch.

I get back to Elle's apartment not long after seven and find her still deep into her study groove. Her hair is twisted haphazardly on top of her head, there's an explosion of illegibly scrawled post-it notes all around her desk, and I see the remains of at least two peanut butter toasts in the kitchen. If not for the belly that even her—well, _my_ , but I doubt I'll win this battle—giant hoodie no longer quite conceals, she'd look just like I remember from a hundred attempts in Boston to distract her from her studies. She looks delighted by my return, although I quickly realize it's the bags I've just set down on the kitchen counter that she's staring at, not me.

"Ooooh, is that from the Thai place down the street? Did Mickey tell you? Did you get panaang curry? And the soup with the mushrooms? And the chicken skewers with the peanut sauce? And please tell me you got sticky rice for dessert. Because sometimes they tell me they don't have it but they're lying, it's just that they've run out of mango and think no one will order it with just the rice, but why would I care about the fruit part when the whole point is the coconut rice?" She's digging through the bags with glee and Mickey was clearly not exaggerating when she said this was Elle's favorite.

"Yes, to all of those. Although how you can possibly still be hungry after that lunch and your apparent peanut butter frenzy while I was gone - "

"Are you _seriously_ asking? I thought Adam was going to sit you down and explain how pregnancy works to you. Yes, I am still hungry. And if you want any of this food for yourself, be nicer to me. Because this is all your fault, I should remind you."

"Again, I really thought you'd made it clear you considered this to have been a joint endeavor."

Yeah, I earned that shove.

Dinner distracts us for a while, but eventually we get back to real conversations.

"Are you still planning to fly down next weekend, so we can tell your dad?"

"Yes to flying down, although, now that we've told my mom, I should probably just call Dad tomorrow. Mom's not going to be able to keep this quiet much longer. But I was planning on flying down anyway. I was thinking I'd fly down every weekend, actually."

Elle starts to say something, stops herself, laughs, and finally answers. "I was going to say that's ridiculous. Except—I want you to, ridiculous or not."

"Is it even that ridiculous? It's only two more months until I move here, anyway."

"Now that you've gone and resigned without warning me, you mean?"

I look at her in confusion. "We talked about it—last weekend."

"What if I wanted to move to San Francisco?"

"Elle, you saw my mom's reaction today. We have all our family here. Would you actually want to leave all this behind?"

"Yeah, and you have all those friends in San Francisco, and a job. Or at least, you did."

"A job I never intended to stay in for more than a few years. And most of my friends won't be sticking around, either. They hire a bunch of recent grads to coach and and so they'll have some young people among the teaching staff, but they know most of us will move on. That was always the plan." I pause, then smile. "If it's your new best friend Adam you're worried about, he's planning to leave after next year. So start telling him how great LA is, if losing him is what's bothering you."

"Fine. And I know you did mention you were _planning_ to resign. But still, tell me when you take these big steps, next time. Before you tell your mom."

"Promise."

"Are you really going to fly here every weekend? I could visit you, too." Elle offers.

"Sure. But I also have stuff to get done down here. Like finding a place to live. And hopefully, interviewing for jobs. That's why I was meeting with Natalie and Joe—to figure out job leads. And I've got some more people to talk to."

"Well, the finding a place to live part I can work on."

"Thanks, I could use the help."

Elle eyes me oddly. "I mean, it's not really 'help.' I'd kind of like a vote on where we live."

I come close to spitting out the bite of food I'd just taken. "We?"

"Oh, don't play coy. Obviously we're going to live together."

"Wait. Back up about six steps in this conversation that I wasn't aware we'd had." Apparently while I was busy looking for a way to make Elle think moving in together was her idea all along and not something to freak out about, she'd actually... already decided on it.

"Look, I know why you're giving me that look, and I know why you've avoided the topic. But you don't need to. I'm not going to get all panicked about it. It's what makes sense."

And _that's_ when I recognize the jut of her chin and the tension in her jaw. It's the brave face again, and the brave face means there's a lot she's not saying.

"Shell, we don't have to do anything just because it 'makes sense.'"

She's staring at her food rather than looking at me, like at lunch when things got awkward. "I mean, what else would we do?"

"I don't know. Whatever else you want. You could move home. You could get your own place. Hell, you could make my mom's life and go live with _her_. I'm sure she could spare some room for you and a baby in that house."

She smiles at that, but shakes her head. "Except I don't want to do any of those. And I _do_ want to live with you. It's just... frustrating."

"Frustrating how?" I need this to be something she's happy about. Not resigned to.

"It's a little ridiculous, no? That we're having this conversation already, when two weeks ago we weren't even speaking?"

"The ridiculous part was that we weren't speaking two weeks ago. For us to be talking about moving in together, no, I don't think it's ridiculous at all."

"Are you honestly telling me that if I weren't pregnant we'd still be having this conversation? That if we'd stayed safely on the 97% side of the odds, we'd be considering moving in together right now?"

"Yeah, maybe. I mean, you know I wanted to before all this. And I know you weren't ready last fall to think about that yet, but... yeah, I do think it's entirely possible we'd be having this conversation, right now."

"I guess. But it would still be—a conversation. Not a foregone conclusion. Not the most logical solution to a problem. I guess that's what I mean by frustrating. That even if we want to, we also just kind of... have to. There isn't much of a decision left." She's back to staring at her plate instead of looking at me.

"We really don't _have_ to. There are a lot of other arrangements we could come up with. If we wanted to. But I was hoping you'd agree this is the most appealing one. Regardless of whether it also happens to make sense."

I get why she's struggling with this, because I feel that frustration too. I wish we'd heard each other in October. I wish we'd found our way back to each other sooner than October. I wish we hadn't split in the first place. I wish for any number of what-ifs that would have left us more breathing room to give each of these decisions and milestones their own time. But we are where we are and I can only hope Elle will see that too. That she won't let regrets about not having gotten it right earlier keep us from getting it right now.

Elle speaks up again. "I guess it wouldn't be the first big decision we've rushed."

I'm not sure what she means until she looks up and I see her smirk. Our teenage impatience doesn't strike me as the most appropriate comparison for this decision, but hey, whatever convinces her. I certainly don't mind the reminder.

"And you're right. It is what I want to do." Elle continues. "So really I just need to know that you want to, too. And not because it's the reasonable thing to do. Because you _want_ to."

"Are you... are you trying to talk me into what I've spent the past week trying to figure out how to talk _you_ into? Yes, you dork. Of course I _want_ to live with you. Have you not been paying attention... ever?"

Elle giggles, and this time it's a real smile she gives me, not her brave face. We can start working on the details tomorrow, but for now I'm going to enjoy having so satisfactorily crossed this item off the list of necessary conversations. I wonder what else among the topics I've been avoiding Elle has already decided for us without telling me. There's really only one topic with an even bigger caution flag flying over it than this one, but I'm not going to press my luck this weekend.


	29. Insomnia

_**(Elle)**_

I wake to find the sky outside still dark; my phone confirms it's the middle of the night. I don't know if it was a weird dream, a loud noise outside, or just general pregnancy insomnia, but now I'm completely awake. Whatever it was doesn't seem to have affected Noah, so I slip out of my bed carefully to avoid waking him and make my way to the kitchen, hoping a warm drink will help me fall back asleep.

I tidy the living room to distract myself while heating water for tea, and that's when the memories flood back. All those lonely middle of the night wakings—I didn't sleep through the night once while Dad was hospitalized. No matter how early or late I went to bed, no matter what white noise or allegedly soothing nature sounds I put on my speakers, no matter how warm or cool I kept my room, no matter what I'd wake up in the wee hours. I had a routine. I'd check on Brad, make sure he was still asleep. Check that all the upstairs windows were still locked, then go downstairs and check all _those_ windows and doors. I hated being in that big house without Dad. I'd make some tea, toast some bread, and then sit on the couch with my phone and my tea and my toast and try to distract myself until I felt sleepy again.

I'd imagine myself back on campus and wonder what my friends were up to. Sometimes I'd let myself look at their social media, but it was usually too painful to actually see everything I was missing. So mostly I just imagined, speculated. Whether my soccer team would repeat as intramural champions. Whether anyone in my lab had taken over my project. What group Halloween costume my suitemates had come up with this year.

But of course, those thoughts were just distractions. The less painful topics I focused on instead of those I missed most. At least I could let myself wallow in missing Lee, as painful as that was. We still talked as often as possible, and he went out of his way to always pick up if he saw me calling. Kristina probably hated me for monopolizing her boyfriend. Except I knew she didn't, because she was awesome. She called me, too, and I missed both of them, missed our dinners and our dance-offs and our private jokes. It's odd to realize I never saw her again, not after she and Lee broke up the next year and things just got too awkward.

But again, those were still just distractions. Because what I absolutely least wanted to think about during all those sleepless nights back then was Noah. Noah at whom I was still furious, yet desperately missing. And furious at myself. I couldn't even have told you what I wanted him or us to have done differently, at that point. To have stayed or not stayed. To have broken up or not. To have listened or kept pushing when I told him I couldn't keep talking about it, couldn't keep fighting about it, and please just stop calling. I had felt relieved when he _had_ stopped calling, and maybe if I could just stop thinking about him I'd start to feel less lost. Except then I would stare at the clock and add three hours and wonder what would happen if I called. Three a.m. in LA meant six a.m. in Cambridge meant he'd be awake, getting ready for practice. I knew every minute of his routine and I'd stare at the phone until the window had passed, until I knew he was safely away from his phone again.

Sometimes I couldn't stop myself from imagining him there with me. Imagining he'd stayed and wondering how that would have been. Except I never let myself picture it working it out. I thought up a dozen different ways it would have blown up. A dozen justifications for not having let us even try.

The electric kettle beeps at me and I shake those memories off. Those days are long past, and we're here now. Dad is safely home, I'm about to graduate, and Noah is back. It's his jacket that's hanging off the back of one of the dining chairs, his shoes discarded next to mine by the door, his shirt I retrieved from the floor and pulled on when I slipped out of bed. And probably his fault I'm awake, or at least his kid's fault. His kid. My kid. Ours. Somehow in all this thinking and worrying about being pregnant I haven't let myself think about the inevitable resulting baby much beyond the abstract, but Dino's gotten a lot more real these past two weeks.

I clear the last of the dinner dishes while waiting for my tea to steep. We'd gotten... _distracted_ sometime around dessert and never made it back to the kitchen. I think back to the light in Noah's eyes when he realized I really was okay, so much more than okay, with the idea of us moving in together. And that's why I'd brought it up tonight. To get that other look out of his eyes—that guarded look he'd get, the wary tone of his voice whenever he carefully referred to moving to LA, or wherever else I planned to be, without ever saying we'd live _together_. I know I've given him reason to avoid these topics, but I don't want to be treated like a live grenade.

But maybe I'm also sick of trying to pretend these decisions aren't huge and scary. My therapist reminded me of that, this week. That having a baby and rekindling this relationship and figuring out what's next, not just with the baby and Noah, but even just dealing with graduating, are all major steps, and that it's normal to feel overwhelmed sometimes. That admitting it doesn't mean I'm not dealing well, or that I'm going to run away. That admitting it is actually the best way to make sure I don't get to the running-away point at all.

So now I let myself have a moment to be overwhelmed by it all. By the sheer magnitude of the changes coming. I curl up on the couch with my tea and let the past two weeks, the last year, sink in. The tears come, but that's no surprise these days.

I stare at the door and remember my hand shaking as I opened it two weeks ago. Remember that first sight of Noah and the palpable anger gripping him, remember his expression in the brief second I'd managed to look up before the raw hurt in his eyes made me look away. But then I remind myself that every moment since has been a little bit better. Noah had said things would probably get worse before they got better, that night when he was telling me he believed we could fix this, but he'd been wrong. That first moment was the worst by far.

At least I hope it will have been the worst. Noah's been so… calm about all this, at least after those first days. He'd said he just didn't feel like being angry, just didn't want to keep rehashing the past, but I don't know if I should be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's given me no reason not to trust him, and so many reasons to believe him, but it's just all so much—how can he _not_ find it daunting? And not just all so much, right now. All so much to come.

There's no way we know what we're getting into. This baby is going to show up and—then what? I try to remind myself of what Dad keeps telling me, that no one actually knows how to be a parent until they just… do it. Suddenly I'm very glad we're staying here in LA, because I have a feeling I'm about to need Dad in a whole new way. And June. I hope Noah knows how grateful I am for today's lunch. I had no idea how much I needed June until I was in her arms, all wrapped up and safe.

I don't hear my bedroom door open, so it's Noah's voice that startles me, his confused "Elle?" in that groggy voice I usually love, except the last thing I want right now is for him to worry why I'm up late crying. But it's too late, he's seen me, and it only takes a few of his long strides for him to cross the room and drop next to me on the couch.

"Shell, what's wrong?"

I make a futile attempt to dry my eyes. "Nothing. It's just—everything. It's everything." I'd tried and failed to keep my voice from wobbling.

"Everything is wrong?"

Argh, clearly not the right way to put it. I'm not sure how to explain I just needed this cry. Without anything being wrong. Or at least, not anything new.

"No. Not _wrong_. It's just… a lot. All of it. The baby. Graduating. You moving here. The baby. You moving here _for me_. Us. Did I mention the baby? Because the baby, that's a lot all by itself. Before I even get to all the rest of it."

"We'll figure it out." He tries to pull me against his chest, to tuck me into his reassuring hold as he has so many times these last two weeks, and suddenly I've had enough. The calm. The reassurance. The acting like all this is just totally normal when it's so not.

I sit up, fending off his attempt to draw me closer, pushing back his hands. " _Stop_. Doesn't any of this scare you? How can you be so _calm_ , so _collected_ , so always just fine with all of this? This is not _fine_. This is not _easy_. This is freaking terrifying and _none_ of this is how it was supposed to happen." My voice is increasing in volume and frustration as I go.

"Elle?" God, he looks so confused. And I'm being such an ungrateful wretch, getting mad at him for being _too_ supportive. _Too_ okay with this. _Too_ forgiving of my screwups.

"I'm sorry. I'm being crazy. And unfair. And I know _why_ you think you need to be the confident one, and why you think you need to reassure me all the time. But how do you think it makes me feel to be the only one losing my shit while you act so calm? It's _normal_ for this to freak us out. But when you act like it's no big deal, it just makes me feel like something is wrong with _me_ , if I can't be so calm."

I hadn't meant for it to come out that way. But maybe I needed it to.

I can see him hesitate, looking away from me. He leans his elbows on his knees, clasping and unclasping his hands, fiddling with his class ring.

"You're right. I didn't want to make things harder on you, to make you deal with my worries, so yeah, I've been holding some of it back. But _not_ because I didn't think you could handle it. It just didn't seem helpful. To either of us. So if I've made you feel worse, God, I'm sorry. I promise you it's not because I think this is easy. Or not a big deal. Although I do honestly believe we'll figure it out. I really do. And that just seemed like the better part to focus on."

"It does help. Most of the time. But knowing I'm not the only scared one would also help."

Noah looks at me now, then launches in. "The morning after you told me, I woke up in a cold sweat. When all the realities hit me. And I didn't even want to start thinking about the baby and what that would mean, because that was terrifying and I just wanted to think about you. About having seen you and having realized that getting over you never would work. And I didn't know if I should resent this surprise for making everything more complicated, or be selfishly grateful it would force us to talk. And I was so afraid I'd screw this up. Trust me, I didn't think any of this was easy. And I wasn't particularly calm."

"You did sound kind of… off, those first days after. I don't know. I was trying not to overanalyze your messages. I figured it was a lot you'd just had dumped on you."

"I don't even remember what I said. If I was a jerk, I apologize."

"No, nowhere near that. Just… not quite you. Until you called. Then you were you." I'd cried myself to sleep after that call. Not out of sadness, out of relief and joy.

"Well, don't tell Lee, but his little intervention helped get my head straight. I mean, I would have gotten there anyway. But slower."

"I'm sure Lee has told you how he thinks we should thank him."

Noah chuckles at that. "Yeah. Several times. We agree that's not happening, right? Because if you want me to be honest about the things I'm scared of, you naming our child Lee, that's right there near the top."

I lean over to smack him, and this time I let him pull me into his lap.

"I'm sorry I haven't been completely open about everything. You have so much to deal with already, and I didn't want to add to that. I thought you might need me to be the calm one."

"I just need you to be you. I mean, I like the calm. And it does help. But only if I know it's for real. So tell me when you're not calm, too."

"You mean like when Natalie was talking today about going back for our five-year reunion, and I realized Dino would be nearly _three_ by then? And then I realized that I hadn't yet thought that far ahead, that at some point we're going to have, like, an actual kid that talks back and throws balls through windows and crashes our car into the neighbors' mailbox, and that I have no idea how to deal with that?"

"We probably have a little time before we need to worry about the kid stealing the car. Even your kid."

I've curled up against Noah's chest now, letting him wrap me in his arms. I'm feeling brave enough for a question that's tormented me all week.

"It's not just the calm about the baby that worried me. Sometimes I wonder—why you're not more angry. At me. For disappearing. For not telling you."

Noah sighs into my hair. Maybe I should have left it alone. But I need to know.

"I _was_. I was furious. At the pool, when I saw you, and then trying to make up my mind to call you, and then all the way to your door. I was furious, and confused, and half convinced contacting you was a mistake and I should have just never let you know I'd seen you. But then you opened the door. And I was still furious, but… it was you. And I realized what I most feared in that moment was you having moved on. Every other crazy explanation for what I'd seen I could work with, but not you actually being done with us. And, anyway, that was before we'd started talking. I meant it, on that first call, when I said I didn't feel like being angry. And I'm just not."

I snuggle deeper into his arms, finally starting to feel sleepy again. The rest can wait until tomorrow.

But apparently Noah's not done with this conversation. "Shell, when you said none of this was how it was supposed to happen—what did you mean?"

Definitely a question I would have left for tomorrow, if ever. "Just—that everything's all out of order. It's not that I never imagined we'd be here, but not… like this. Not right now, completely unplanned, when we weren't even together. In this big rush."

I wonder whether to say more or whether it's too much already. Obviously the way it was _supposed_ to happen, if everything went right, was that we'd finish college, move in together at some point, and then, sometime after that, maybe talk about getting married. And then, sometime after _that_ , start talking about kids. In some really faraway hypothetical future where everything hadn't gone wrong. But I'm not up for talking about all that. There's just no room in my brain for those discussions right now.

"Yeah." The long pause before Noah continues tells me he's choosing his words carefully, too. "This isn't how I would have planned things. But I'd be lying if I said I never saw this happening. So maybe that's why I've been calm, as you put it. Because even if the circumstances aren't what I expected and there's a lot to figure out fast, the situation itself—I kind of expected. Someday."

"Really? Even… the last couple years?" Maybe if I were less sleepy I would have filtered that question before asking it out loud.

"Did Adam tell you why I broke up with Megan?"

Noah's non-sequitur confuses me. "Yeah. Because she got serious and you weren't looking for that."

"Not quite, although that's probably what I told him. We'd been dating four months or so, we were having fun, I was congratulating myself on finally getting over you, and then she said she loved me and suddenly all I could think about was you. And at the time I thought that meant I wasn't actually done getting over you, and that I shouldn't waste Megan's time. So we broke up. Except as time passed, I realized I was getting— _less_ over you, not more. The problem hadn't been that I didn't want to get serious. The problem was that I still _was_ serious. About you."

"This was—a year ago?" God, we've wasted so much time.

"The breakup was in December. The figuring stuff out took longer."

December. If Noah had actually shown up to family dinner that Christmas, maybe we could have talked instead of me getting stupid drunk with Lee and getting that tattoo. I'm starting to suspect Noah's heard that story. He hasn't said anything, but I've felt his fingers linger over the stars way too often for it to be coincidence. At some point I'll have to ask. "We really are idiots. I'm starting to understand why Lee keeps meddling."

Noah's only response is a low chuckle. There's a lot more we could say about the last two years, but in the end it doesn't matter how much sooner we might have gotten here. Just that we're here now.

"Not that I'm trying to escape the topic of our idiocy or any of the rest of this, but I'm finally sleepy again. We should get back to bed, and keep talking in the morning." I tell Noah as I untangle myself from his arms and rise from the couch.

"What woke you, originally?" Noah asks, following me back to my room.

"No idea. Probably yet another charming side effect of pregnancy. I was hoping not to wake you, though."

"You didn't. I was uncomfortable and woke myself. And then I realized you were gone, and wondered why."

"Are you not enjoying the return to dorm life?" I tease him.

"This terrible and tiny mattress? Yeah, no, this part I hadn't missed."

"Well, you only have two months left to suffer."

"About that—maybe we could just find a place… now. Before next weekend. And never sleep here again."

"Nah. I'd miss Mickey too much. She feeds me, you know. And you'd miss those updates I pretend not to notice she's sending you."

"Mickey is welcome to move in with you. As long as she disappears on weekends. And, well, once I move back."

"You didn't use to whine about twin beds this much. You've gotten alarmingly grouchy in your old age."

"Parenthood. It really ages you."

And that joke should be terrifying, but instead I just laugh.


	30. Dead Serious, Dad

**_A/N: An early update because I plan to post another chapter on Friday! I've gotten several chapters ahead on Wattpad and need to get this account closer to caught up._**

 _ **(Noah)**_

Our conversation seems to have calmed Elle and she falls asleep soon after we return to bed, but it's had the opposite effect on me. Elle's right it's normal to be freaked out about all this, and she's also right I've gone too far trying to project confidence. Where Elle doesn't have it entirely right are my motivations. Not wanting Elle to panic is one reason, but I also need _me_ not to panic, and sometimes that means ignoring the overwhelming details and just telling myself we'll figure it out. At some point all those details will need dealing with, but at three a.m. there's not much I can do besides go down my list and remind myself of the progress made.

Be wherever Elle will be: check. We need to actually go find a place, but at least we're in agreement that we'll be in LA, together. That's one critical question dealt with.

Tell parents they're about to become grandparents: two down, one to go. Of course, the one remaining is the one most likely to react poorly. I put this on the list for morning; I can't expect Mom to keep quiet all week.

Tell friends: in progress. Elle's UCLA friends probably all know, for obvious reasons, and my San Francisco friends know. That leaves the Harvard and high school crowds, at least on my side. I'm not the biggest fan of posting my life online, but what could be simpler and more efficient to get this news out than a picture of Elle captioned "Mine"? Too bad she'd kill me, possibly literally. But Tuppen might still get the news that way. The rest I'll leave up to Elle.

Find a new job: in progress. At worst, I can swallow my pride and ask Dad for help, but I'd rather not resort to that, so I've got a lot more work to do and people to contact.

Figure out what happens once this baby actually shows up: Yeah, probably not the topic to think about if I ever want to get back to sleep. Lee and I were once asked to watch our toddler cousin for an hour. It took ten minutes before we begged Elle to come over and rescue our helpless asses. There, that's the sum total of my experience with babies. Maybe Adam will let me borrow his newest nephew. More importantly, I still don't know what Elle had been planning for herself after graduation, career-wise, and how the baby affects that. There are a lot of conversations we haven't had yet.

And I guess that brings me to the most important item on the list: figure stuff out with Elle. Figure _us_ out. But the solution there is simple. Not easy, but _simple_ : talk. Listen. Do it again. And then again. I've gotten the same lecture twice now, from Mike and from Mom, about no longer having the option to hide from each other. I'm sure I'll hear it again from Dad. And I don't disagree, but I didn't need the lecture. Even without this baby, I've learned my lesson; ignoring each other doesn't change our feelings, it just makes us miserable. So there really is only the one option: talk. Listen. Repeat.

But talking will have to wait for morning, so for now I just listen to Elle's slow even breathing and tell myself yet again that we're going to work it out. And that part I'm sure about, even if the details are hazy.

* * *

Elle had made plans to work on a group project Sunday morning before knowing I'd show up this weekend, which leaves me some time for a conversation I've decided not to drag Elle into. Elle and I can have lunch with our families next weekend as planned, but I'm going to break the news to my dad this morning.

He sounds a little surprised I'm calling. Which makes sense, because we're not exactly phone buddies. Mom calls me every weekend and whenever she has something to needle me about, I update her, she tells Dad; that's how this usually works.

"Your mom said you're in LA this weekend. You couldn't have waited until I was home?"

"I'm actually coming back again next weekend. You'll see me then. This visit with Mom was more… spur of the moment."

"Two weekends in a row? Have you suddenly gotten over your aversion to LA?"

He sounds a little suspicious, and I can't help but laugh. "You could say that. Listen, did Mom tell you why we had lunch?" She clearly hasn't told him the important part, or I would have heard from him already, but I'd like to know if she mentioned anything about Elle before I decide how to break the news.

"She did not. But she strongly implied I'd be hearing from you soon. And now here you are, calling. So why don't you tell me what's going on?"

I'd debated a few different ways of doing this before I'd picked up the phone. In the end I decide to just lay it all out there. Dad may not see it the same way, but all of this is good news as far as I'm concerned, so I feel no need to soft-pedal the announcement.

"Elle and I are back together, I'm moving here once the school year's over, and your grandchild's due in July."

There's a very long silence.

"Run that by me again, because I'm sure I can't have heard you correctly."

"Sure. Elle and I are together, I'm moving back to LA, you'll be a grandfather in July."

There's another silence. I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am. Elle might not find this entertaining, however, and she doesn't deserve my dad's kneejerk negativity, so I'm glad to be getting this out of the way before family lunch.

Finally he sighs. "I suppose it's too much to hope this is your belated attempt at an April Fool's joke?"

"Dead serious, Dad. I could tell you a third time, if that would help. Or I have some sonogram pictures you might like."

"Noah, July is very soon."

"It is. The very short time between now and July is definitely something I am aware of."

Another long sigh. "So this is why you had lunch with your mother yesterday? To tell her... this?"

"Yes, _Elle and I_ had lunch with Mom yesterday. To tell her about the _baby_ we're having. In _July_. In case you're still working through what I've been telling you. You know, I'm told the traditional response to this kind of news is 'congratulations.'"

"You think this is funny?" Dad's tone is sharp.

"No. I think this is great news and I was hoping you'd agree. But clearly not, so why don't you let me have it for a while and then maybe by the time you see Elle next weekend you can avoid making her cry." The humor is gone from my voice.

"News so great you've been keeping it from us for how long now?"

"Elle and I were still figuring some stuff out. We're telling you now."

"And how long exactly has this been going on, with Elle?"

"Six and a half years."

This time the sigh is of the exasperated variety. "I'm aware of the history. But I don't recall seeing the two of you anywhere near each other the last few years."

"Look, those details are Elle's and my business. What I'm telling you is that we're together now, and that we're having a baby, both of which we're thrilled about." Mom will probably tell him the timeline, but it shouldn't matter.

"So you've finally gone and done it."

I'm half furious at his somber tone and half hilariously amused by his phrasing. Actually, Dad, we'd _gone and done it_ long, long ago, it's just that we finally hit the odds wrong. I know he means we've finally gone and fulfilled his most feared prospect, of course. Except this isn't actually bad news, and I'm going to need Dad to understand that before I expose Elle to him.

"Look, Dad, I realize this is a shock. I get that. No, Elle and I haven't always told everyone everything going on between us. And yeah, this was a surprise. I'm not going to lie about that. But we're happy about this, and we were hoping you would be too. Mom is. Mike is. And they both also have concerns, obviously, but maybe you too could manage to see the big picture and not just the imperfect details."

Dad doesn't respond, and I decide to just keep going.

"The baby's due July 18 and no, we don't know what it is yet. Elle's doing great, not that you've bothered to ask. Mike knows, Lee knows, Brad knows. We were going to tell you and Mom in person next week, but then I was in town this weekend and didn't want to put it off any longer, and so now I'm telling you, too. I've given notice at work, and I've started looking for a job in LA. I have leads I'm working on, but if you also want me to go talk to your buddies, sure. I realize I'm about to have a lot more responsibility, so I'm not going to rule anything out. Elle graduates in June. You probably knew that already. I have to be in San Francisco through the second week of June, and then I'll be here. We're going to be living together. Don't start asking if we're getting married, we haven't gotten to that conversation yet and we'll get there when it makes sense for us. But we're in this together. And yes, Elle getting pregnant is exactly what you most feared when this all started. To which I will simply point out that it's been _six years_ and we're not teenagers anymore, so maybe consider the possibility that this isn't actually a disaster. At all. Does that address enough of your concerns for you to be nice to Elle next weekend?"

There's another long pause, and finally I hear Dad laugh a little.

"Did you rehearse that?"

If only eye rolling conveyed better over the phone. "No. I didn't need to."

"Noah, look. You're right. I… got off on the wrong foot here. I'm not going to say I'm happy about this announcement but—I am glad to see this is how you're handling this news. And obviously I'm glad Elle is feeling well, and I'm sorry I didn't start with that."

"Do you think you could manage to work your way up to happy by July?"

"Will I be happy about a grandchild? Of course."

The child responsible for that grandchild, though? Probably a longer road back to Dad's good graces—if I was ever even there to begin with.

"And when you see Elle, you're not going to be a jerk about this?"

"When I see Elle I will treat this like the happy news it is. _Your_ tone could use some work, though."

"You didn't sound that pleased a minute ago. I'm just making sure you agree Elle deserves a better reaction."

"And ten minutes ago I was still being kept in the dark. So why don't you give me another minute to get used to this little surprise?"

I resist the urge to hang up, and instead we manage to keep talking. One of our more awkward conversations, but I know Dad. He'll come around, he just needs to get mad first, which is why I did this today. Without Elle.

I let Dad lecture me about how serious all this is, and how this means I need to quit playing around and make a real plan for the future. I listen patiently and say "uh huh" at respectful intervals and try not to let him hear me chuckle at the idea that I've been leading some terribly irresponsible life up until now. By the end I can tell he's gotten most of the anger out of his system. The news caught him off guard, I get it—I've been there. I eventually agree to sit down with him next weekend before family lunch to talk about jobs and finances and all the other details he wants to lecture me about, and that seems to satisfy him that he's done enough for today. I tell him to call Mom to get the rest of the story about yesterday, and he manages to sound sincere when he finally tells me he's happy for us and to pass along his best wishes to Elle.

So that's another item off my list.

* * *

I've got a plan by the time Elle returns, and I intercept her as she walks back into the apartment.

"Stop right there. We're going out. We've spent enough time sitting around our apartments these last two weekends, talking, and there's no reason we can't talk outside."

"Will there be food outside? I was hoping it was lunch time soon." Elle looks at me skeptically.

"There will be whatever food you want to lead the way to. I showed you around my neighborhood and school, now it's your turn."

"We could go to that diner you liked, the one near - "

"Nope." I interrupt her. "I don't want to go where _we_ used to go. I want to know what _you_ 've been up to. So that years from now when you and Mickey tell your crazy college stories, I'll have some idea what you're talking about."

Elle still looks skeptical. "My hope was to _not_ expose you to any of that, so when Mickey tells embarrassing stories I'll have plausible deniability."

"I already know Mickey only speaks the truth, at least about you. So you may as well show me around."

I've spent time around UCLA many times before, but it's not the campus I'm curious about, it's Elle's life here. She's been telling me bits and pieces of it these past two weeks, and she'd told me some stories in October, but I want to be able to _see_ her here, to have a picture in my mind of the last two and a half years.

It had driven me crazy, when I let myself think about Elle, not knowing what she was up to. I'd _always_ known what she was up to, before. She was always around, first of all, even long before I realized I was paying attention, and then at some point it became more of an intentional thing, keeping an eye on Elle. I may not have been honest with myself about my motivations at first, but I always knew who she was friendly with. When her team would be practicing. What classes she was taking. And, again, she was just always _around_ , as Lee's much much better other half. I couldn't _not_ have known what she was up to, even before we got together. And then she was back in LA and I was in Cambridge and for the first time I had no idea what was going on in Elle's life.

Lee was no help. While Elle and I were still arguing, Lee would sometimes talk to me about her, mostly to yell at me. But afterward, the topic became radioactive. I wasn't going to ask, no matter how much I wanted to, and Lee wasn't going to volunteer. Mom wasn't any more helpful, probably because when she did try to talk to me about Elle, early on, I pointedly ignored her. Lee did sometimes drop breadcrumbs, whether out of pity or to torture me. He's the one who told me she was transferring to UCLA, and I'm sure it was no coincidence all the times he just happened to be telling Mom something about Elle while I was within earshot. But if I even approached the subject he glared and told me her number hadn't changed. The fact that it took me two years will probably go down as one of my biggest regrets.

But that's the part of the past I've said we should stop rehashing. The point is, I have no idea where Elle has spent the last two years and I'd like to change that.

And so I let Elle lead me around her campus highlights, telling stories in that giggling mile-a-minute rush of words I'd missed so much. Now I know where she means every time she mentions needing to go to lab, or having a shift at the library, or meeting Mickey at the food trucks.

At some point we find ourselves in front of the athletic center and there's an awkward pause in Elle's stream of chatter. Finally, though, she gives a wry smile.

"And here's where I de-stress when I have something huge weighing on me that I'm not ready to deal with. But sometimes I get lucky and just being at the pool ends up making me deal with it."

I tighten the arm I'd had looped around her and pull her close enough to kiss the top of her head.

"We both got lucky." I see Elle smirk. "Yeah, poor choice of words. Or maybe overly accurate. You know what I meant."

Elle wraps her arms around me and laughs. "Yeah. Now, I was promised lunch. Does lunch have to be outside too, or can we go to my favorite place where they make pancakes with chocolate chips _and_ raspberries?"

"I have a feeling that's not actually a question and that very bad things would happen if I said no to your pancake plan."

"So there _are_ brains behind that pretty face."

Enough brains to refrain from commenting when Elle orders not just those chocolate-raspberry pancakes but also a peanut butter milkshake, although not quite enough to resist stealing some of that milkshake while she's distracted. The glare I get when she notices is pure Shelly fury, and damn, I'd missed this. I'd meant for us to talk through more necessary conversations over lunch, but I realize we need _this_ just as much. This time to act goofy and just enjoy being together. To remember some of the million reasons getting over each other was never going to work. There's so much ahead of us, both to figure out and to look forward to, but for right now I'm going to sit here and enjoy this moment just for its own perfection.

 _ **A/N: It's a two-chapter week... I've been posting just slightly more often than weekly over at Wattpad, so I'm trying to get closer to caught up here. Chapter 31 should be up on Friday.**_


	31. Confidantes & Conversations

_**A/N: This was a two-update week - I posted Chapter 30 on Tuesday, in case anyone is just checking in once a week and going straight to the last chapter.**_

 **Sunday** _ **(Elle)**_

I'm sitting on the couch with my laptop when I see the door open and hear Mickey yell from behind it.

"I'M HOME. EVERYONE PUT CLOTHES ON."

I snort. "You're safe, Mickey. Nobody's naked."

"Well, that's disappointing. Why did I even bother leaving you the apartment all weekend if nobody got naked?"

"Oh, don't worry. Your sacrifice was greatly appreciated and very much taken advantage of. But Noah left for the airport an hour ago."

Mickey sets down her bags and roots through one of the kitchen cupboards.

"Do you want anything from the kitchen?"

"I don't know… maybe those cookies you lied to me about?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you were terribly disappointed." Mickey comments dryly as she plops down next to me on the couch with a bag of pretzels. "Soooooo?"

"Sooooooo, what?" I'm concentrating very hard on my laptop screen to avoid meeting her eyes.

"Oh, _come on_. I put up with all your moping last week, I aided and abetted Noah's surprise appearance, and then I disappeared the entire weekend. I'm owed some details."

"There will be no details, Mickey." I'm struggling to keep a blank expression.

"You're no fun. Fine, I'll just have to draw my own conclusions from any change to your grumpiness levels."

"I'm not at all grumpy."

"Yeah, I bet."

I finally give in to the laughter I'd been holding back. "Seriously, Mickey, what do you want me to say? I already told you, your absence was appreciated and made the most of."

"Fine, I don't actually want _those_ details. But how was… everything else?"

"Noah set up a surprise lunch with June, so now she knows. And then Noah told his dad. So that was all kind of major."

"Let me guess—June was thrilled, Matthew less so."

Mickey came with me to a family lunch once. June loved her to pieces, while Matthew spent a solid ten minutes grilling her about whether trying to make it as an actress was a reasonable plan for after graduation.

"Pretty much. I wasn't there for the Matthew conversation, but—argh, _why_ are you looking at me like that?" Mickey is smirking.

"I kind of already knew you'd told June. She texted me this morning wanting to know what the baby shower plans were. And telling me to make sure you got more sleep because you looked tired."

" _Seriously_? How does she have your number? And is there any Flynn left you're not talking about me to?"

"I promise I'm not talking to Matthew. And June's had my number since that lunch."

"We had an agreement, Mickey. No going behind my back."

"You're going to need to talk to Lee and June about that. They're the ones who've been contacting me. And anyway, I always tell you about it. Like right now."

"I see you left Noah out of that defense of your meddling."

"Oh yeah, _those_ communications you can blame me for. I'll stop if you really want me to, but it's mostly just me sending him pictures so he doesn't miss out on how cute you look right now."

"I love how you qualify that—how cute I look _right now_. Because soon I'm just going to look like a pumpkin with legs."

"Somehow I suspect he'll think you're the cutest pumpkin with legs ever. Anyway, June's over the moon and if you _don't_ want the world's girliest baby shower you need to tell me right now so I can rein her in before she goes off the rails."

" _I_ don't want a crazy baby shower, but I'm kind of June's only chance at this. I don't think any of us could rein her in."

"Ok, but don't blame me if there are ice sculptures and miniature ponies involved."

"Now I'll be sad if there _aren't_ miniature ponies."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. So, what about Matthew?"

I grimace slightly. "I was spared that conversation. But it sounds like Noah let him get enough lecturing out of his system to feel like he's adequately conveyed his disapproval. Although, I'm probably not Matthew's favorite person right now."

"Really? He seemed to like you fine at lunch."

"Matthew likes me better when I'm not dating Noah. Now I'm back to being a distraction from whatever it is Matthew thinks Noah should be doing. Plus I'm saddling him with a baby."

"That makes zero sense."

"Oh, it absolutely doesn't. I mean, I wasn't even dating Noah when he decided to teach for a while instead of whatever his dad wanted him to do. Anyway, he'll get over it. It's just how he is. Lee can enjoy being the favorite for a while."

"Ok, so, weird dad issues aside, you've told the Flynns. Now what?"

"A _really_ awkward family lunch next week. Can we bring you for moral support?"

"No can do, I'm afraid. I'm gone next weekend. Which does mean you'll have the apartment to yourself again…"

I laugh. "I'll tell Noah the good news. Although apparently it's hard to readjust to undergrad housing, and especially twin beds, after two years in the real world." Mickey is smirking at me again. "He was trying to convince me to find a place immediately, but I told him I'd miss you too much."

"You'd miss my baking too much, you mean."

"Not only! … also all your other cooking. And, you know, you."

"And wait—you guys talked about moving in? Did you just forget to mention this when I asked how the weekend was?"

"June asked what Noah's plans were, for moving here, and he was being so careful about saying we'd figure that out later, and sneaking looks at me like I might bolt if he said the wrong thing… so I brought it up, later."

Mickey's already heard my whole messy feelings about living arrangements and wanting us to be together even if it also scares the crap out of me to admit it.

"And?"

"That's what he wants, too. If I want to."

"Duh. Any other momentous decisions you've forgotten to tell me about?"

"Not really. I mean, we talked a lot. And I might have yelled at him a little bit for never admitting any of this is scary."

"Good."

Mickey's phone suddenly erupts with message alerts, and I'm grateful for the interruption. I don't know yet if I want to tell her more about that conversation. Having her to confide in has been such a relief, but some of this is just for us, now.

Mickey goes off to deal with whatever drama those messages are about and I try to get back to work, but I can't stop thinking about what she said about June. It's not that it's surprising, when I think about it, that June would want to throw me a baby shower, it's that I _hadn't_ thought about it, yet. And as much as I'd missed June these last couple months, not seeing her made it easier not to think about who else I should have been sharing these milestones with. Mom. But maybe it's time to start talking about all that. I send June a message asking if we can have dinner this week, and not a minute later I've got her reply. _Of course._

Later that night, on the phone with Noah, I thank him again for setting up that lunch.

* * *

 **Monday** _ **(Noah)**_

Adam drops himself at my table with a smug grin on Monday, interrupting what had been a quiet lunch.

"We missed you at Friday happy hour. And at Gwen's party on Saturday. But I suspect I know why. Care to share?"

"If you already know, I don't need to share."

"Ah, but I was promised insider information in exchange for my role in your charade."

" _Charade_ might be too ridiculous a word for it."

"Regardless, I want details. You went to see her, didn't you?"

"Are you surprised?"

"No, relieved. You were embarrassingly mopey. How is she?"

"She's good." I'm trying not to encourage Adam's interrogation, but I can't help smiling.

"And you?"

"And me what?"

Adam huffs in exasperation. "You and this whole saga, smartass. How are you doing with it? I'm going to make you talk, you realize. I can be _really_ persistent."

"I'm doing fine with this. _You_ need your own life."

"Nope. You're not getting away with _fine_. And I do have my own life, thank you very much, it's just less interesting than yours at the moment, and you know how I love the drama. And Elle. I really like Elle. Maybe I should just call Elle rather than dealing with you."

"She'd love that. Go ahead."

"But she's not here _right now_. So I'm still going to need you to entertain me for this lunch hour."

"Fine. I went to visit Elle. We told my mom about the baby. I told my dad. Elle informed me that we're moving in together, which was surprising but not exactly unwelcome. There, now you're all caught up on my weekend. Can I go back to eating in peace?"

"Are you kidding me? There's like an entire lunch hour's worth of details I'm going to need about each of those developments. Let's see… I haven't met your parents, but I can't see how they could not love Elle, so I'm going with—happy about this news?"

"Elle's mom was my mom's best friend. She'd be thrilled about Elle having a baby even if it weren't also her grandchild. Not to mention Mom probably thinks it puts us one step closer to the wedding she's been planning for even longer than we've been together, although thankfully she hasn't brought that up yet."

"Okay, hold that thought, because we're definitely going to discuss _that_ detail. But what about your dad? Does he not share your mom's feelings?"

I chuckle darkly. "My dad is going to need some time to work through yet another round of frustration at my hopelessly irresponsible lifestyle."

" _You_ have a hopelessly irresponsible lifestyle? Are there more secrets you're keeping? Is teaching a front for your drug dealing operation?"

"Oh, you're well aware of this lifestyle. You see, Dad considers _this_ "—I gesture broadly at our surroundings—"to be a highly unprofitable use of my time. So I'm already a major source of disappointment to him. Getting Elle pregnant just confirms he was right all those years ago about our relationship being a bad idea."

"Weren't you in high school then?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't it seem like this happening now might be a little different than in high school?"

"To most people? Sure. But Dad won't let that detail get in the way of concluding I've lived up to his direst predictions."

"You don't seem overly concerned."

"Like I said, his frustrations with me aren't new. I'm used to it. Ironically, he'll probably end up glad Elle got pregnant if it means me getting a job he approves of."

"And is that going to happen?"

"We'll see. I'm working on some leads."

"In LA? I heard you officially resigned."

"Yeah. Although you really need to stop charming Elle, because I'm pretty sure wanting to hang out with you is why she was arguing for San Francisco."

"Feeling threatened?" Adam grins.

"I accepted years ago that Elle collects guy friends. You at least can be trusted not to leer at her."

"Fair. I mean, she's cute, but so hopelessly… female. And Elle's decided you're living together?"

"Apparently."

"Maybe if you're patient enough she'll inform you you're getting married."

I roll my eyes at him. "It's been two weeks. _You_ need some patience."

"Two weeks plus, you know, that whole epic story you told me."

"If you'd paid attention, you'd realize why now is not the time."

"Ugh, fine. But don't try to pretend like that's not your endgame."

"My endgame is to be with Elle."

"Sure, I get it. You're going to camp out outside her window with your boombox until she figures it out for herself."

"You have the weirdest movie obsessions."

"Older sisters, man. And Lloyd Dobler is _iconic_."

"Are we done now? Can I go back to eating in peace?"

"You wish. We're just getting started."

* * *

 **Wednesday** _ **(Elle)**_

I've made it halfway through the week and now I need some bestie time. Lee picks up on the first ring.

"Is it just you this time, or is Noah lurking shirtless again?"

"You know, normal people say 'hello' when they answer their phone."

"Yeah, well, I needed to make sure I was only saying hello to you. These days I can't be sure."

"Just me. It's the middle of the week, why would he be here?"

"Right. Like Noah deciding to quit and just follow you around would be so out of character."

"It actually would be, and you know it. Are we going to have to repeat your whole interminable process of getting used to us dating, or can we skip ahead to when you don't spend half our conversations making wisecracks about Noah?"

"Ugh. Fine. It's just I _really_ enjoy mocking him, and it's been a long time since you let me."

"I'm sorry our breakup limited your comedic options." I say after an awkward pause.

"Okay, I just realized how bad that sounded. Maybe you could hang up, call me back, and I'll take another stab at not being a jerk."

"Or I'll just move on. Anyway, we said we were going to talk about _your_ drama this week."

"But you guys are good, right? Still… figuring stuff out? I'm trying to stay out of it, but you'd tell me if you needed to talk, right?"

"Yeah, we're good. And I'll tell you if I need to drag you into it."

We _are_ good, Noah and I. He's kept going with last week's stream of distracting messages throughout the day, and then I call him before going to bed. It reminds me of our days in Boston, except now there's four hundred miles between us on weekdays instead of just the Charles. But not for long, I remind myself.

"And you're doing okay? With the knocked-up thing?"

"Except for you calling it that, yes. I'm serious Lee, I want to talk about something other than me and my absurd life for once. Literally anything else."

"Anything? Even my thesis?"

"Sure, even that." Lee's master's thesis is about some arcane computer cryptography thing and usually I only ask about it if I need help falling asleep.

"Except I just spent twenty hours on it this weekend, so that's actually the last thing I want to talk about."

"Fine, then tell me how things are going with your old lady."

Lee's latest girlfriend is a law student a couple years older than us, something I never tire of teasing him about.

" _Jenna_. Her name is _Jenna_. And she's older than me by barely more than Noah is you, so check your sexist attitudes, please."

"Yeah, and I call Noah old, too. Anyway, do I ever get to meet her?"

"Maybe? I don't know that we're quite at the fly-home-to-meet-the-family point yet."

"Won't your parents meet her at graduation? Wait— _I_ could meet her at graduation!" I realize.

I haven't been back to Boston at all since Dad's accident, and earlier this year I'd planned on avoiding Lee's graduation since Noah was sure to be there. But now there's nothing stopping me, and the idea thrills me.

"Uh, Elle?"

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to be really pregnant by then? Like _really_ pregnant?"

"The last weekend in May, right? I'll be… let me look at a calendar. Ok, thirty-three weeks. That's, like, almost two months to go. I bet that's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I'll find out. And I really want to be there."

"I know I'm not supposed to comment on you and Noah, but I'm guessing he's going to have opinions on this."

"I said I'd ask my doctor! And since when have I let Noah tell me what to do?"

"He might get a _little_ bit of a vote when it involves his kid. … Wow, saying that feels weird."

"You think that feels weird? I'm the one who has to look down every morning and realize holy crap, it wasn't a crazy dream, I'm actually pregnant. But come on, I've gotta be at your graduation."

"You know, when you guys still weren't talking, I was going to tell Noah not to come. So you'd be willing to come."

Suddenly I'm tearing up. Lee is the absolute best and too often I forget how hard all this was for him, too.

"Elle?"

I guess he can hear me sniffling.

"That would have been... really really sweet of you. But we should never have put you in that position. Except we did. Over and over."

"Bygones. Just don't do it again. Elle, seriously, you know I can't deal with the crying. And now you'll both be there, right? Which is even better."

And I'm crying even harder now, because that _will_ be even better. Being back in Boston with both Lee and Noah—I had no idea how desperately I wanted that until just now.

"Elle?"

"I'm almost done crying, I promise. Okay, _we're doing this_. I'm coming to your graduation and I'll yell crazy things when they call your name and we'll go to all our old favorite places. Tosci's and Flour and Mike's and the place in your student center with the burritos the size of my head that are so not authentic but that I love anyway."

"Ah, the Elle Evans tour of Boston and Cambridge, featuring nothing but food."

I actually have a few other favorites in mind to revisit, but Lee is very much not invited to the _illicitly-accessed roof terraces and secluded park benches_ portion of the tour.

Lee and I eventually get back to talking about Jenna, but as much as I want to pay attention, I just can't stop thinking about going back to Boston. Not just to hang out with Lee. Not just to revisit romantic favorites with Noah. I left in such a rush and never got to say goodbye, and maybe now it's finally time for that.

 _ **A/N: might do another quick update Tuesday to keep catching up to my Wattpad account, which is currently a few chapters ahead. Link in profile if you want a sneak peek...**_


	32. Friday Adventures

_**A/N: I posted two chapters last week instead of one - just a heads-up if you're like me and automatically go to the most recent chapter...**_

 _ **(Elle)**_

I check my answers one last time before handing the exam book to the proctor with a sigh of relief—it's been a long week, capped off by a Friday morning midterm. Finally, though, I can relax and look forward to the weekend, including Noah's arrival tonight.

The weather was already glorious when I walked to class this morning and looks to have only improved, the sun blinding me as I step outside and reach for my phone. I blink and shade my eyes so I can see my screen, and that's when I notice. The familiar profile. The relaxed sprawl against the bench. And then, the grin spreading across his face as he sees me spot him. It's Noah, waiting for me after my last class of the week. And of course he is, because that's just what he does. Or at least, what he did, way back when, even if it makes absolutely no sense how he's doing it now. He stands as I approach and that's when I notice that his attire has definitely improved since our last Friday lunch date. He's in a crisp navy suit that I'm certain cost more than anything I own, or even any five outfits of mine, and damn, if he has to wear clothes at all, this might be my new favorite.

"It's noon, Noah. Your flight gets in at nine tonight. What are you _doing_ here?"

"Change of plans, and I thought you might like some lunch. Or are you going to tell me to come back later because you have better plans for the afternoon?" He smirks at me.

"I seem to be underdressed for whatever it is you've got planned. I mean, I definitely approve of this surprise appearance habit of yours, but you've got to start giving me a heads-up so I'm not always looking like a slob next to you."

"Oh, _this_ isn't for you." Noah deadpans.

"Gee, thanks. So who's your other date, the one that does merit the suit?"

"Natalie."

"Natalie. Really. Do I need to take back what I said last weekend about liking her?"

Noah grins, unable to maintain his serious face. "Well, maybe more like Natalie's bosses merited the suit. And you definitely shouldn't take it back, because I think you're about to like her even more. She's so eager to get me back to LA so she can get the rest of the gossip on you that she landed me an interview this morning."

"And you didn't _tell_ me?" I squeal.

"I had to fly in late, and I knew you had that midterm this morning. Figured it was in both our interests to get some sleep last night, so I stayed at the house. Come on, do you want lunch or not?"

"You know I _always_ want lunch. Do I get a vote where, or did Mickey give you a list of my favorite restaurants along with that class schedule and map of how to find me on campus she must have provided?"

"You lead the way. I would _never_ dare tell you what to do."

"Oh, good, so that finally sunk in. Only took six and a half years." I grumble. "Wait—are you all done? With the interview stuff? You don't have to go back this afternoon or anything?"

"Nope. It was just a first round—if those people liked me, they'll bring me back to interview with more of the team. But I'm all yours for the rest of today."

"Because I do actually have plans this afternoon. That you could join me for."

"I know," he smiles. "Why do you think I picked today when they asked if I'd rather interview this week or next?"

I've got a prenatal appointment today. Which means Noah and I can find out, together, what we're having, no notes in sealed envelopes needed. And maybe Noah can even get to see Dino. Which is probably why he's giving me that triumphant grin. "Best Friday surprise ever," I mutter as I wrap my arms around him.

* * *

We head to my favorite food truck and then find a shady bench to sit on. Noah watches with mild alarm as I take a small bottle of Tabasco from my bag and douse my fries, but he wisely chooses not to comment. And, added bonus, for once he's not stealing my fries.

Noah fills me in on his interview as we eat, but I'm having trouble paying attention. I can't believe we're finally going to know. Mickey keeps asking me if I can just, like, _sense_ what it is, but the truth is I have no idea at all. Sometimes Dino feels like an extension of me, and then I picture a girl. But then when I'm thinking of Noah, or talking to him, I picture a tiny version of him, a boy with his dark eyes and dimples. But I can't say that I have any actual intuition who or what Dino is, other than the fact that he or she loves peanut butter, Tabasco, and kicking me.

"We _are_ finding out today, right?" I suddenly interrupt Noah. "You haven't suddenly decided you want to wait and be surprised?"

"We've had enough surprises, don't you think?" Noah laughs.

"I don't know, you seem to be fond of showing up unexpectedly."

"That's different. But yes, of course we're finding out."

"I'm suddenly very nervous. Like super, super nervous." I admit.

"So you _do_ have a preference?" We've had this conversation a few times.

"No, I still can't decide what I'd pick if I could. But once we know, Dino will be that much closer to real."

"And more importantly, never, ever to be referred to by that name again." Noah adds, putting on his most serious expression.

"You wish. You think we're going to agree on a real name that fast? Shouldn't we, like, meet the kid before we decide? And Adam says even if we do decide, we shouldn't tell anyone because people always feel compelled to tell you all their stupid reactions to any name you tell them, and then you start hating the name before the kid's even here. So we'll still need a fake name."

"Well, if _Adam_ says…" Noah rolls his eyes at me. Adam's my new buddy, and Noah is begrudgingly learning to accept it. Don't have awesome friends if you don't want me to steal them, pal.

"Do _you_ know anyone else who knows anything about babies? Because I don't. Other than our parents."

"Don't you remember Brad being a baby?"

"I remember that he was very loud and that I spent a lot of time at your house that year."

"Right. This all bodes really well. Neither of us knows anything about babies and you're taking advice from Adam, a guy who eats cold Spaghetti-O's straight out of the can and flooded his apartment using dish detergent in the washing machine."

"He babysits his nieces and nephews all the time. Clearly his sisters think he knows something about kids."

"Or they're just desperate for free babysitting. Anyway, enough about Adam. When exactly is this appointment?"

"At two. We don't need to leave quite yet."

"Out of curiosity, what have you told them?"

"Told who about what?"

"Your doctor, about me—is there a cover story I need to know? Do they think I'm a deadbeat? Or have we been together this whole time and I just haven't been able to make it to appointments?"

"Oh. Pretty much the truth. She had questions about you I couldn't answer, so I kind of had to admit we weren't talking and you didn't know yet."

"What about me do you _not_ know?"

"Your blood type. Apparently that's relevant. And family medical history stuff."

"My mom could have told you."

I stare at him. "Because _that_ wouldn't have been suspicious? 'Hey, June, what's Noah's blood type and are there are any inheritable diseases in your family? Oh, no reason. Definitely not secretly knocked up or anything.'"

"Yeah, I realized how dumb that was once I said it."

"Anyway, I did tell my doctor I was planning to tell you, so I'm sure she'll be happy to see you there today. But there's no cover story you need to stick to. Just the truth."

"Are we waiting until Sunday's lunch to tell our parents, or are you going to be on the phone with my mom the minute we find out?"

Noah knows June and I have been on the phone all week. It's like once the news was finally out I had months of pent-up talking to release. We had a long dinner on Tuesday, just the two of us. I haven't told her everything yet, but just being able to talk to June without the subject of Noah looming unspoken between us is such a relief. We've stuck to discussing the pregnancy so far, June peppering me with questions about how I'm feeling and wistful anecdotes about her own pregnancies and reminders to drink more water and get more sleep. If it were anyone else it would be driving me nuts, but… it's June. At some point I'll probably finally tell her about the breakup, about October, about everything, but not yet.

"I don't know. Telling everyone all together on Sunday seems better, no? But I'm not sure I can keep my mouth shut that long. Although, clearly your mom has been doing her own secret-keeping, if you stayed there last night. Did she know you were showing up? Because we talked yesterday and she didn't say a word."

"She knew, and she knew I wanted to surprise you. And not distract you before your midterm."

"Oh dear god. I just remembered the message she sent me this morning. Noah, she said _Have fun_ with a winky face and I thought she was joking about the midterm, but now it all makes sense. Oh my god, she needs to not send messages like that. It's just wrong."

"Elle, I hate to break it to you, but my mom is aware of the nature of our relationship."

"Of course she is, but she's not supposed to _acknowledge_ it. Let alone send me winky faces."

"Didn't you two spend an entire dinner this week talking about you being pregnant? Which kind of implies - "

"It's not like we were talking about how I _got_ pregnant! Wait, what are you doing?"

Noah has pulled out his phone and is tapping away.

"Dear Mom," he reads aloud as he writes. "Please don't send Elle any more emoji in any way acknowledging the fact that I have seen her naked. Love, your favorite son and provider of a grandchild that was most definitely not immaculately conceived." He looks up at me with his best innocent smile. "Good?"

"You wouldn't."

Noah turns his phone just enough for me to see him hit _Send_.

"Noah!"

He cracks up. "Relax, Elle. You think I actually wrote all that out that fast? I was just telling her I'd managed to catch you after your midterm."

"You shouldn't mess with me like that. It's not good for Dino when you spike my blood pressure."

"Is putting half a bottle of Tabasco on your lunch good for Dino?"

"Who do you think wanted all that Tabasco? But you're right, now I need something to counteract all that hot sauce. Come on, we have just enough time for you to buy me a milkshake before my appointment."

* * *

Dr. Kim looks surprised when she walks in and sees Noah, but she quickly smiles and holds her hand out.

"Dr. Agnes Kim. And you must be - "

"Noah Flynn. Elle's, ah, boyfriend." Dr. Kim is shorter than I am, and yet Noah is visibly cringing under her hawk-eyed stare.

She's looking at me now, one eyebrow raised, and I quickly realize why.

"Boyfriend and baby daddy." I add.

"I never assume." Dr. Kim says pointedly. "In that case, I've got forms for you, Noah. But first, congratulations. Is this your first, too?"

Noah laughs nervously, looking surprised by the question. "Of course."

"Again—I never assume. You'd be amazed what people don't mention if you don't ask."

Like me not mentioning this baby to Noah for months? But I don't actually think Dr. Kim was making any kind of statement about us. She does probably see all kinds of interesting drama.

"Noah is the one I've been telling you about, Dr. Kim. I finally told him. And I was hoping you could check the ultrasound report from before and tell us if it's a boy or a girl. I'm ready to know, now."

"I can do better than that. Would you like to get a look at this baby, Noah?"

His eyes light up, and I feel a pang of guilt that he hasn't yet had that opportunity. "Of course. If we can—Elle wasn't sure if there would be a scan at this visit."

"Oh, this definitely seems like a good enough reason. How about this—you work on these health history forms while Elle and I get through all the boring parts of the checkup, and then we'll see what this baby's up to. Sound good?"

* * *

Dr. Kim squirts ultrasound gel on my belly and starts sliding the transducer around, trying to track down Dino.

"Any guesses before I tell you?"

"Noah is afraid karma's going to catch up to him and he's going to have to raise a miniature version of himself, so he's rooting for a girl," I tell Dr. Kim as Noah rolls his eyes.

"Well, as the mother of two teenage girls, I'm not so sure they're any easier. But you'll be finding that out for yourself, because this baby is indeed a girl. A girl who seems to be intent on mooning us instead of letting us see her face. Aha, here we go."

What had been a mess of gray blurs suddenly sharpens and a face appears, and then Dr. Kim flips a switch and the rapid drum of a heartbeat fills the room.

The difference since the last scan is so striking that I forget to look at Noah, distracted by the sight of _her_ , so impossibly perfect. She's got a hand curled up by her mouth and the other pressed against her ear, and she looks so _real_.

"Damn." The word falls from Noah's lips so quietly I almost miss it. I turn back to look at him and I have to catch my breath at the sight of his stunned expression. He looks entranced and bewildered, like he can't quite believe his eyes but desperately wants to.

"She sleeps like you." He finally says.

" _What_?"

"With her hands up by her face. Just like you."

Dr. Kim is watching us with a knowing smile. "She's sucking her thumb, actually."

"See! That is _not_ how I sleep. I do _not_ suck my thumb."

"Ok, not that part. But that _is_ how you sleep, Shell. Trust me, I've watched you enough."

"I'm not so sure she's sleeping. She was flipping around just a minute ago." Dr. Kim points out. "Here, want to see if you can get a reaction from her? Try pressing right about _here_."

Noah gives a tentative push with the tips of his fingers at the spot Dr. Kim indicated, and the hand that had been curled at Dino's ear suddenly flies forward, jabbing back at him, followed by the second hand. Noah pulls his hand away, startled.

"I think she just punched you. Noah, did you just start a fight with a baby and _lose_?"

I don't think I've ever seen Noah so thrilled to lose a fight.


	33. Landmark Dates

_**A/N: I updated twice this week and last in order to get caught up with my Wattpad account. It should be back to weekly Friday updates after this.**_

 _ **(Noah)**_

"Damn." You'd think I could come up with a more articulate reaction, but apparently the eloquent parts of my brain are too busy staring slack-jawed at the ultrasound image. It shouldn't be so shocking. It's not like I haven't spent the better part of three weeks thinking about this baby, feeling it kick, and trying to make sense of the ultrasound pictures Elle sent. But actually seeing it—seeing _her_ —in real time, hearing her heartbeat while watching her sleep, is another experience entirely. Or not sleep, apparently. She certainly looks exactly like a sleeping Shelly, her eyes closed and her hands all up in her face, but Dr. Kim was right that she reacted immediately when I prodded at her. Although, I'm not so sure that means she isn't sleeping. That's certainly how Elle would react if I so rudely bothered her during a nap.

I can hear Elle teasing me about losing a fight to a baby, but I don't care. I reach for Dino again and give another gentle push, but this time I keep my hand steady as her fists fly at me again. It's a good thing Elle's watching the screen and not me, because there's only so wide I can open my eyes to hold back these ridiculous tears. I press my luck and prod Dino a third time, and I guess now she's mad because her face turns away and disappears from the screen while I feel a distinct flipping motion under my fingers. And while she'll deny it if I say it, that's another classic Shelly move, the disgruntled roll away when she's not ready to wake up.

Dr. Kim tracks Dino down again, and she takes a few pictures for us to keep as she and Elle talk about when to make the next appointment. The details of their conversation are lost to me as I stare at the screen and try to make sense of it all. A girl. Mom will be thrilled. Elle's jokes about karma aside, I don't think I actually had a preference, but I certainly don't hate the idea of a tiny Elle, even if it means I'm going to need to learn to coach soccer.

* * *

I'd driven one of Dad's cars to my interview and then to campus to find Elle, and inspiration strikes as we get back into it after leaving Dr. Kim's office.

"Think you can manage a little bit of a drive and a hike?" I ask Elle.

"Can _you_?" Elle asks, eyeing my suit.

"After a stop at your place to change."

"A stop at my place to change and to get a snack?"

I roll my eyes. "Sure."

"A hike where, exactly?"

I smile at her. "Today seems kind of important."

Elle's expression instantly shifts from skeptical to soft as she realizes what I mean. "Yeah, it does."

We've returned to the Hollywood sign more than a few times. The night before I left for Harvard. When Elle got into BU and we knew we'd be reunited. On our way back from the beach house after ending our ridiculous summer breakup. All kinds of anniversaries. Today seems like one of those milestone days.

* * *

Elle has decided we're making a whole evening of this, and she's got a picnic dinner packed for us by the time I've changed into something more comfortable. She catches me smirking as I watch her add a blanket to the bag, and she glares at me from across the room.

"Don't go getting any ideas. This is for sitting on while we eat. _Fully clothed_."

"I recall _you_ usually being the one who needs that admonishment. And anyway, my _ideas_ , as you call them, were of a more immediate nature."

I know the hike was my suggestion, and I'm definitely still planning on it. But we've got the apartment to ourselves and years apart to make up for, so...

"But you just got dressed."

"An easily remedied error."

We don't end up making it to the Hollywood sign until just before sunset.

* * *

It's been a long time since we've come here, and I can't say that back then I'd have predicted _this_ would the next milestone we'd celebrate here. And yet, here we are, making absolutely no progress on the baby naming front. I managed to suggest four video game characters' names until Elle caught on to what I was doing, and now she's retaliating with the strangest names she can think up. Or at least I hope that's what she's doing, because if these are serious suggestions we've got some arguments ahead of us.

"If you keep saying no to all my ideas, you realize she's just going to end up named Dino for real, right?" Elle threatens.

"Dinah."

"What?"

"I'm slowly understanding that we're not going to agree on a real name anytime soon, but could we at least make her fake name sound a little more... girly?"

"But I like Dino." Elle pouts.

"Did she look much like a dinosaur to you today?"

"No," she admits with a smile. "Fine. I'll try and call her Dinah from now on. But no promises I can get Mickey to switch."

Elle had been in fine cheery form when we got here, but she gets quieter as we finish our picnic and night falls fully. She's leaning against me, her head on my shoulder, and I'm about to ask what's got her preoccupied when she starts talking.

"I came here a few times. After we broke up. During the day, between visiting Dad and needing to pick Brad up from school."

I'm not sure what to say, so I wait to see if there's more she wants to tell me.

"It was nice just to sit here alone. I could see why you used to come here to get away. Although it wasn't as quiet, during the day, with other people around."

"That's why I always came here at night."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to wander here alone in the dark." She's silent for a minute, then continues. "I did come here once at night. My first semester at UCLA, I'd just met Mickey and a bunch of her crowd, and someone's high school friend was visiting and wanted to do the whole LA tourist thing. Which was a lot of fun, until we ended up here."

"So that's when you told them about the runaway jackass?"

" _What?_ " Elle raises her head to stare at me.

I give her a half-smile. "Mickey may have mentioned that nickname. Well, more like apologized for it."

Elle winces. "It's possible I didn't tell Mickey the most unbiased version of our breakup, at first. Although I swear I never called you that. That's just what she'd say when she thought I was brooding and needed to snap out of it."

"Don't worry about it. So that's when you told Mickey, that night up here?"

"Oh, no, I told her much later. That night I just drank way too much and talked very loudly about how corny and cliched tourists get about the Hollywood sign. I mean, I barely knew any of them yet. I wasn't going to start telling strangers any of... this." Elle pauses. "Did you ever... come back here?"

"Once. The night I got back after graduation. I'd gone for a drive around the neighborhood and seen your light on in your house, but I couldn't make up my mind what to do about it, so I just kept on driving, and ended up here."

Elle sighs. "I'm sorry I didn't come to your graduation party. I was going to, and then I just—chickened out. And I figured it would be better to come by another day, when there weren't a million people around."

"Except I didn't give you the chance." The morning after the party I packed up and drove to San Francisco.

We're both quiet for a while after that. We can't not acknowledge this history, but knowing we need to doesn't make it any easier.

"How do we know we're not going to screw this up again?" Elle finally asks.

"We don't."

Elle looks at me uneasily.

"I didn't mean that as pessimism. I just mean—we can't _know_ we won't screw up. No one can. But we know we don't want to. And we know how miserable we made ourselves being apart. And, hopefully, we learned _something_ from our mistakes. So we just have to... trust in all that."

"I guess. Plus, we're going to have a lot of people yelling at us if we try to stop talking, this time." Elle comments wryly.

"I see you got that lecture too?" I chuckle.

"Yeah, from my dad. And Lee. And your mom didn't phrase it quite as aggressively, but, yeah, from her too."

"My dad's version was particularly delightful. It's too bad you missed out on that one."

"There's always family lunch." Elle jokes, although there's nervousness behind her smile.

"I mean, they _are_ right. We don't really get to be idiots now that we've put this kid in the middle of it."

Elle sighs. "I don't want to think of it that way. I want us to get it right for us, not just because we're... stuck."

"We're not _stuck_. And of course we want to get this right for us. But extra incentive doesn't hurt."

Elle is twisting restlessly at a strand of her hair, coiling and uncoiling it, and finally she sits up, pulling away from my side.

"It just _feels_ like I've trapped you."

I start to respond, but Elle barrels on. "No, just let me say this. I _know_ we both did this, but, still. You quitting, and moving here, and everything. I know it doesn't make sense, I know it's not what you think, but it's just how I _feel_ sometimes. That I've dumped all this on you and made you change your life overnight."

"Shell, I can keep telling you there's no part of these changes I don't welcome, but that's not what we should be talking about."

"What do you mean?"

"What about you?" I ask, trying to get her to look at me.

"Me?"

"What are _you_ giving up? I've tried to ask, but you never really answer. You had all these plans for grad school, before—when we were in Boston. I hate to think you're having to put all that on hold. You keep worrying about what I'm giving up, but what about you?"

"I... I don't know. I'm not really giving anything up because I hadn't really made any plans." Elle picks at a loose thread in the blanket, looking away again. "And not just because of the baby. I'd already decided not to apply to grad school this year. I still think I want to, someday, but this winter I just wasn't ready to make all those decisions. I figured I'd get a job—work in a lab, or for a consulting firm, or something, for a couple years, and then decide. And then I found out I was pregnant, and that kind of... derailed all the planning. So I have nothing planned. Which probably sounds horribly irresponsible."

"It doesn't. You're due right after graduation. It's not like you'd have much time to start anything before this baby shows up. But this is what I mean—you keep guilting yourself about me when _you're_ the one having to put things on hold. For your dad, and now for this baby."

"I guess. I'm just not even sure what it is I'm putting on hold. But you're right, I have to do _something_. I can't keep putting off thinking about jobs."

"Shell, that's not what I meant. You don't _have_ to do anything, and especially not right now. But when you do figure out what you _want_ to do, I want you to actually get to do it. Even if we need to move for you to go to grad school, or whatever it is you want to do. We'll make it work. That's what I meant. That I don't want you putting off your dreams. You've done that too much already."

"Grad school? With a baby?"

"Why not? If it's what you want."

"And you'd just... quit your job and move again?"

"Yeah."

At some point Elle and I need to actually talk about the trust fund she likes to pretend doesn't exist, but for now I'm more worried about her reaction to my having once again offered to follow her. I'm not going to stop offering, but I'm hoping she'll finally stop fighting me on it.

She's still picking at that loose thread, slowly fraying the edge of the blanket, focused on her task. But lost in thought is a better reaction than panic, I tell myself.

"Okay." She finally says.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, not right now. Because I really don't have any idea what I want to do next. But when I do figure it out, I'll take you up on that."

Maybe, just maybe, we actually are learning from our mistakes.

* * *

 **Saturday morning**

Elle and I had talked about starting to look for a place to live this weekend, but we don't seem to have any particular interest in actually leaving her apartment this morning; we only get as far as finishing breakfast before Elle makes some very convincing arguments for returning to bed. Then again, that dorm-sized bed of hers might be also be our best motivation for finding a place as soon as possible, somewhere we can furnish with real, less frustratingly tiny, furniture. Elle points out I could stay at my parents' house when I'm in town, and... no. I'll gladly take the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement over the incredibly awkward sleeping arrangement. But better yet would be our own place. Which means we really should get up, get dressed, and leave _this_ place. But then, that requires a shower, another notorious source of distraction. So now you understand how it got to be eleven before we were even anywhere close to ready to set foot outside the apartment.

Elle's still drying her hair when there's a knock at the door.

"Could you see who that is? I'm hoping it's those guys down the hall that borrowed my power cord yesterday. I need that back."

I finish getting my shirt on and the knocking repeats before I make it to the door, this time louder and more insistent. Elle's neighbors need better manners. I'm already glaring as I open the door, but it turns out to be for the wrong reason.

"FINALLY. What took you so —"

Lee. Of course. Because it's been almost three weeks since he last threw himself into the middle of this, so he must be feeling lonely.

"I'd have answered the door faster, but I needed to put clothes on." If Lee's going to drop in unannounced, I'm going to torture him. That's how this works.

"Gross. Gross gross gross. Ignoring you. Where's Elle?"

"Even less dressed. Have you ever considered telling people before showing up?" I'm lying, but it's worth it for the look on his face.

" _Lee_?" Before we've even registered Elle's shocked exclamation she's run to the door and flung herself at Lee, and apparently sobbing in doorways is not a reaction specific to me. Lee shoots me a concerned look and I just laugh.

"It's her new thing, crying when people show up. I'd have warned you, but that would have required knowing you were coming."

"Shut up, Noah." Elle mumbles into Lee's shirt before finally releasing him. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"I heard there was a family lunch tomorrow. Couldn't miss that. Especially not Dino's very first family lunch. I'm bringing popcorn for me and Brad."

"You know we already told all of them, right?" I tell him.

"Sure. But I'm still expecting great things from lunch. Dad lecturing Noah. Mom gazing at Elle like the Promised One. Mike just quietly staring daggers at Noah the whole time. Brad being completely oblivious to it all. It's going to be _awesome_. Not to mention, finally a family lunch without having to pretend to believe whatever excuses one or both of you made for not showing up."

Elle smacks Lee and I can't say I disagree. Too soon for our past idiocy to be funny, little bro.

"You really flew out here just to revel in our pain?" Elle asks him.

"Hey, I'm not going to revel. I'm here to _support_ you in this difficult time. Aaaaaaaand also to bask in not being the screwup this time. You going to let me in, now?"

I turn to Elle. "Look, it's your place, so your decision, but he's never going to stop showing up like this if you let him in."

"Yeah, you're one to talk about showing up unannounced." Elle stares at me pointedly.

I smirk at her. "You haven't complained yet."

Elle's blush is as deep as Lee's disgust is obvious.

"Guys, I am RIGHT HERE."

"Maybe we _should_ leave him outside." Elle pretends to ponder, tapping a finger at her lips.

"Ugh, fine. I'm not actually here just to rubberneck at family lunch, although I'm serious about the popcorn. My advisor was supposed to give a talk at USC on Monday but he threw his back out and asked me to step in for him, so I figured, hey, perfect, I can spend the weekend with my dearest friend and least favorite brother and congratulate them together, but I can see I'm not wanted."

"Come in, jerk." Elle laughs.

Lee follows Elle in, and it strikes me this is the first time the three of us have been in the same room since before Mike's accident. As crazy as our triangle can drive me, I've missed this. Besides, anything that makes Elle look as happy as she does right now is a good thing in my book.

"Holy crap, how did you get so much bigger in a month?"

Okay, so now Elle doesn't look quite as happy. Dig your way out of that one, Lee.

"Seriously, Lee? That's how this works. Don't make me regret letting you in."

"I guess it's good you've been stealing all those shirts from my brother over the years, because I don't see how anything else is going to fit soon."

Apparently Lee has a death wish.

"OUT! You are banished!" Elle is pointing at the door and I'm not sure she's kidding.

"Look, Lee, I know you hate it when I give you advice on talking to women, but you really may want to reconsider your approach here."

But apparently all this falls under that infinite forgiveness pass Elle somehow granted Lee forever ago, because suddenly she flings her arms around him again for another hug, laughing hard.

"Just wait until your graduation. I'm going to be so huge I'm going to need two tickets."

Ah yes, graduation. Elle's doctor assured us that flying to Boston at the end of May should be fine, and Elle is over the moon at the idea, so I know better than to try and stand in front of this speeding train. Truth be told, I love the idea too. Our breakup dragged down my senior year, and this feels like our chance to close the Boston chapter of our story on a happier note. I've also found myself wondering if it might not be the right opportunity to start a certain other chapter, but that's going to take some thinking about.

"Do you still want a second round of breakfast?" I ask Elle, getting back to the conversation Lee's arrival interrupted. Of course she does, but I have to pretend to ask.

"Yeah. Another toast? And tea?"

"Oh, hey, I could use breakfast too. Or lunch. It's already way past lunch time in my time zone. I'm starving." Lee announces.

"And?" I ask him.

"... you were offering to make food?" Lee answers, hopeful.

"I offered to make _Elle_ food."

"Oh, I see. So _Elle_ gets special treatment."

I nod slowly at him. "Yeah. But feel free to make your own breakfast."

Elle laughs at us from the couch, and I'm struck again by just how thrilled she looks at having both of us here. Fine, I'll be nicer to Lee.

"I'll throw more bread in the toaster for you, but no special requests, you're getting the same peanut butter and jelly Elle likes. And there's probably a cup of coffee left in the pot if you want it, but you'll have to drink it in the kitchen so Elle doesn't get upset she can't have a second cup."

"Wow, that didn't take long."

"Excuse me?"

"You're very well trained. Impressive for only three weeks." Lee smirks at me.

"And you're just as obnoxious as ever. _Not_ impressive for twenty-two years."

Lee laughs, and his broad smile is genuine. "I'm _never_ not going to give you guys shit. But I'm also really happy for both of you."

I snort in a vaguely appreciative manner.

"Or, yikes, all three of you, I guess. Wow, that's still crazy. I really thought I had a few more years before you two started reproducing."

"Sorry for ruining your plans."

"Oh, no complaints from me. This uncle thing turns out to be a real hit with the ladies. I need some new sonogram pictures to show off. Although, I'm a little worried Jenna's getting ideas and no offense, but hell no."

"Why would I be offended?"

"You may be chill with this whole situation, but I'm planning another decade of freedom for myself. You _are_ chill with this whole situation, though, right? You don't need another brotherly intervention?"

A dozen snarky responses spring to mind, but instead I just look over at Elle and smile. "I don't know if _chill_ is the right word, but... I wouldn't change a thing."

Lee pretends to vomit, but he can't hide his smile.

* * *

Lee is a few steps ahead of me heading back to the sitting area and I watch him claim the half of the couch not already occupied by Elle.

"Lee?" I glare.

"What?" His look is innocent, whether that's genuine or to annoy me, but Elle is rolling her eyes at us.

I _could_ sit in the chair near the couch. But instead I put the plate and cup I was carrying down on the coffee table, scoop Elle up, and sit myself down on the couch with Elle in my lap.

"So we're back to this. Wow, I had definitely missed being a pawn in your never-ending war." Elle mock-glares at both of us.

"Anyone else on the planet, Elle. That's all I ever asked of you. You could have picked literally anyone else on the planet." Lee shoots back.

"Sorry, but I'm stuck with him now."

"Stuck with me? Thanks." I grumble.

Elle sticks her tongue out at me and I have to give up on maintaining my offended look.

"Very happily stuck with you." She adds. "And you'd better believe you're stuck with me and Dino now."

"Dinah," I reflexively correct her. I've been trying to get her to switch all morning.

"Fine. Dinah. The point is, you're ours." Elle is looking at me with an intensity that has me wondering how to make Lee disappear immediately.

"Wait, what? I hate to interrupt your gross gazing at each other—just kidding, I _live_ to wreck your disgusting schmoopiness—but did I miss an update about Dino?"

Oh. Crap. Elle had wanted that to be a surprise for family lunch.

"Great job on the secrecy, Noah." Elle rolls her eyes at me.

I flash Elle an apologetic smile. "Like you wouldn't have told Lee yourself at some point in the next ten minutes?"

She glares at me, then giggles. She knows I'm right.

"Fine. Yes, Lee, you did miss an update, but you can't tell anyone else yet that this baby here is of the girl variety. Which apparently means we need to call her Dinah now, because Noah's very concerned about respecting her femininity."

"Whoa. A girl. That's awesome. And I just want you to know that _my_ masculinity will in no way be threatened by sharing my name with a girl. I'm completely comfortable with Lee Junior being a girl."

"For the last time, Lee... No. Just no." I warn him.

"Lee, that's not how _Junior_ works." Elle laughs.

"Fine, just plain Lee."

I'd be lunging at Lee if Elle weren't perched on my lap, giggling madly. I settle for flipping him off while he smirks at both of us. If not for the subject of our squabble being what to name the baby currently kicking merrily at the arm I've got wrapped around Elle, it could be any number of lazy long-ago weekends. It's good to be home.


	34. Special Guest Star

_**A/N:**_ _We've got a special guest narrator for this chapter. I tried telling him this story's narration was strictly an Elle and Noah situation, but apparently interfering in Elle and Noah situations is, like, his superpower._

* * *

 _ **(Lee)**_

Elle is giggling about something Noah muttered too quietly for me to hear, and given her blush and his grin I'm pretty sure I absolutely don't want to know what it was. I'd forgotten how revoltingly smitten the two of them can get, yet now I'm stuck hoping they keep going like this another six to seven decades. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing Elle this happy again. And, my frequent claims to the contrary notwithstanding, I do love my brother, so I like seeing him happy, too. It's just... they really couldn't have found anyone else? _Anyone_? But if there's anything the last few years have forced me to admit, it's that we're all better off with these two together. And now I've got a niece to worry about, and she's definitely better off with these two together, so I'm just going to have to grin and bear it while these two torture me for the next... forever years.

Dude, a niece. That's still crazy to think about. A double niece, because let's face it, Elle's kids were always going to be my family. There was a time when I'd started to expect this outcome. Not this soon, but at some point. Then these idiots broke up, and for a long time I feared they might both be stubborn enough never to work things out, especially after October. I can't believe it wasn't even a month ago that I was debating whether to try something drastic to get these two to just talk already. And then I discovered something drastic had already happened.

* * *

 _ **Four Weeks Earlier**_

Five days in Cabo with friends, then a long weekend in LA to see Elle—that was the plan for the last spring break of my college years. I'd tried to convince Elle to join us in Cabo, but our spring breaks didn't line up and she didn't seem enthused by the idea to start with. She's still despairing over Noah and their latest disaster, although lately I haven't even been able to get her to talk about it. So, it's time to meddle. The two of them are always accusing me of meddling, so I may as well actually do it and get us all out of this quagmire of awkwardness.

I'm tempted to tell Elle we're going on a roadtrip and not mention the destination is San Francisco. The problem with that plan is Noah. He's been entirely unwilling to talk about what happened in October, and given the bitterness with which he rejected my most recent attempts I'm not willing to risk him reacting like a jackass to a surprise appearance from me and Elle. Maybe I should plan to drop in on him alone. Get Elle to talk to me this weekend, then show up at Noah's apartment and refuse to leave until he talks, and _then_ figure out a plan. I'm not sure what, although maybe just getting these two in the same room would do it. Except I really would like them to actually deal with their history before they get naked this time. Ugh. I can't believe I'm once again trying to get them back together. The things I do for Elle and my utterly undeserving brother... Anyway, step one needs to be Elle, and that's where I'm headed now. She's got class until four, but she'd said Mickey would be around to let me in.

"Ah, my second-favorite Flynn." Mickey greets me at the door.

"Second-favorite? Did I miss Noah getting off your shit list?"

"Oh no, that runaway jackass is definitely still headlining that list. Your mom's my favorite, you know that."

"Ah, right. Well, I can't argue with that."

I seem to have interrupted Mickey in the middle of doing dishes, so I sit myself on the kitchen counter to keep her company while I wait for Elle. I know Elle's told Mickey her whole Noah drama, and I'm hoping Mickey might know what's been up with Elle lately.

"Elle still hasn't talked to Noah, has she?" I ask.

Mickey looks at me strangely. "Don't you think she would have told you, if she had?"

"I don't know. She's been really... weird to me recently. She won't talk about him at all."

When I saw Elle over winter break she'd finally seemed ready to talk things out with Noah, even after his avoidance of family dinner. And then she just... ghosted me, for weeks. She's back to speaking to me, made some apologies about being really busy with classes, but she hasn't mentioned Noah again and she changes the subject whenever I bring him up.

"That's a question you need to ask Elle."

"Yeah, I've tried. That's the problem, she won't talk to me about it."

Mickey is scrubbing at a pan with mildly frightening intensity. "Lee, I mean it. You need to talk to Elle. None of this is mine to tell."

"So there is something to tell?"

"Elle will be home in an hour."

I just don't get why Elle would suddenly clam up about Noah. Lord knows there've been times in the past I wished she _would_ keep me out of their drama, but she's never been able to before, at least not since high school. That was our promise, the summer after junior year—no more secrets. A weird thought occurs to me.

"Is Elle seeing someone?"

Mickey swivels around to face me. "What?"

"I just wondered... if maybe that was why she doesn't want to talk about Noah. If she's met someone else." I can't decide if that would be a good or a bad thing.

"Argh. Seriously, Lee, Elle will be home in an hour. And I know she's being weird to you, and I wish I could tell you why, but I promised Elle. She needs to talk to you, and you just need to wait for her to do that. But no, she's not seeing anyone."

I drop the subject after that. As crazy as this is driving me, I like that Mickey's so fiercely loyal to Elle. Even if that's supposed to be _my_ job.

I'm sitting on Elle's couch, watching TV, when she finally shows up. She smiles brightly when she sees me, although there's something unnerving about her expression.

"I see you've reverted to weather wimpiness." I tease her. We and all the others from LA got mocked mercilessly our first semester of college for pulling out parkas the instant the weather in Boston got even mildly chilly by our Southern California standards. Five Boston winters have toughened me up, so I'm amused to see Elle bundled into a jacket on what felt like a positively balmy day to me.

"What? Oh, yeah. I thought it was going to get colder today." She's fussing distractedly with the zipper pull of her jacket, not actually taking it off, and there is just something _off_ about the way she's looking at me. She comes and sits next to me on the couch, giving me another smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Just _tell him_ , Elle." Mickey suddenly appears, holding a mug. "Here, I figured you might want some tea. I'm heading to Gabe's for a bit, but call me if you need me."

Elle looks so damn grateful as she accepts the mug, and this is all seriously weirding me out. Mickey's solicitousness, Elle's forced smiles, and the fact that there's some mystery thing I need to be told.

"Elle?" I have a sudden terrifying thought that she's about to tell me she's sick. "You're okay, right? I mean, whatever it is you're supposed to tell me—it's not... bad, is it?"

"Guess that depends who you ask." She's staring into her mug instead of meeting my eyes.

"I'm asking you. Elle, seriously, what is up? You're freaking me out a little. Please just tell me you're not, like, dying."

Elle's head whips up. "Oh God, Lee, I'm sorry. I'm not dying. I'm fine. I'm sorry I worried you. I should have realized this was all sounding way too cryptic. Shit. I spent all week trying to figure out how to do this, and now I'm making a mess of it. Argh. Okay. I can do this."

She's grabbed her phone and is flicking through her pictures.

"Elle?"

"Just—give me a second. Okay. Here. Picture's worth a thousand words, right? And I seem to suck at words today."

She hands me her phone. It takes me a second to understand I'm looking at a goddamn _sonogram_ , and then I stare at her in shock.

"Elle? Is this— are you— ?"

She nods.

"Holy shit. Hooooooooly shit."

And then the penny drops. Why Elle hasn't told me about this. Why Mickey was dodging my questions. Why Elle has been avoiding every mention of Noah.

"Elle, _how_ pregnant are you?" I'm pretty sure I know the answer, I'm just having trouble believing it.

"Just about five months. I'll spare you the math—October."

"So this is... "

"Your niece or nephew, yeah."

"Holy fucking shit. Shit, I shouldn't curse in front of a baby. It can hear us, right? Holy motherhugging crap, Elle."

Elle half laughs, and she looks the tiniest bit less tense now that the news is out.

"So many questions. Sooooooo many questions." I flop my head against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling in shock, trying to figure out where even to start. And then a particularly pressing question occurs to me, and I sit back up to look at Elle.

"Wait, Elle, does he _know_?"

And I have my answer from the crumpling of her face as her eyes fill with tears.

* * *

I'm not sure we ever left Elle's apartment that weekend. All I remember are endless hours of talking, a lot of Elle crying on my shoulder, and one painful argument ending in more tears from Elle. And as terrible as I felt about making her cry, it needed to be said: she had to tell Noah, and quickly. It's not that she disagreed, I just couldn't get her to actually commit to doing it anytime soon. I offered to fly us up to San Francisco that very day. I offered to help her write out what she wanted to say. I even offered to get on the phone and tell him myself, because as much as Noah needed to hear this from her, he even more so needed to hear it _now_. I couldn't promise her he'd take the news well, at least not at first, but I knew waiting would make it even worse. Finally, I told her she had two weeks.

I'm not sure what exactly I would have done in two weeks if Elle still hadn't told Noah, but thankfully I never had to figure that out. Fate and dumb luck took pity on these two idiots and somehow they've managed to run with it. Well, fate, dumb luck, and some hard work on my part. I think I deserve some credit, really, even if Noah doesn't seem to agree on the most appropriate way to thank me. But we'll see about that.

So here I am four weeks later, sitting on Elle's couch again, except this time she's smiling instead of crying while we catch up, and I'm trying to ignore the fact that she's curled in Noah's lap and exchanging sly looks with him over what must be new private jokes. And as glad as I am for this outcome, I've got to admit I'm experiencing some whiplash. For two people who needed two and a half years to admit they'd broken up for no good reason, they've moved fast these past three weeks. But maybe that's the point—they've wasted too much time already.

It seems impossible how long it's been since we hung out like this, all three of us together. In some ways it feels just like old times, except it's hard to ignore the imminent addition to our clique, especially when Noah seems utterly incapable of taking his hands off Elle's belly for more than a minute. If I thought he was overprotective when it was just Elle... But maybe I should cut him some slack. Maybe he just needs the reminder that this is real; sometimes I still can't believe all this is actually happening, either. I'm listening to Elle but I'm watching _him_ , watching his expressions, his reactions, his dopey-ass Shelly smile I'd forgotten existed.

And this is why I'm here. Not just for family lunch, and not to sub in for my advisor at a conference—though that was a convenient coincidence. I'm here because I needed to see these two together for myself. Let's face it, neither of them has been great about telling me the whole story this year, so I'm not just going to take it on faith when they tell me things are going well.

It's mostly Noah I'm watching. Elle's kept some big secrets from me this year, but she's all or nothing about sharing; once she's talking to me about something, she usually tells me everything. So I'm pretty sure I know where she is with all of this. Noah, though, has never been entirely open with me about Elle. He's been _honest_ , at least after junior year, but never forthcoming; there's always been a lot left unsaid, undiscussed. Even when they were together, it was just an unavoidable reality of our situation that I couldn't be Noah's confidante when it came to Elle. And after they broke up... it was _all_ left unsaid, a vast no man's land in our relationship. Some of that was my fault. I was furious at both of them and heartbroken for both of them, but when it came down to it... Elle needed me more. And, in my heart of hearts, if you'd forced me to pick a side—yeah, I blamed Noah just a little more than I blamed Elle. So I don't actually know what was going on in his head while they were apart, only what I observed.

He started out so damn angry. Hell, I was angry too. We barely saw each other that first semester Elle was gone, just retreated to our respective campuses. That mile and a half between us might as well have been an ocean for all we crossed it. We had friends in common, so I did get updates. Or, more accurately, complaints about Noah's perma-scowl and miserable attitude. He didn't come home at all for winter break, just found some excuse to stay back East. That's when I started hearing he was socializing again, and eventually we ran into each other at a party. Literally—I was making my way across a crowded room when some girl stumbled into me before being helped back upright by her date. Imagine my delight to discover that date was Noah. We didn't acknowledge each other beyond an exchange of glares, although later that night I sent him a text for the first time in weeks. _You can do better_. But what could I really say? They'd been broken up for months by then, and, technically, Elle had been the one to end it.

We did slowly start hanging out again that semester, realizing it might be our last time living in the same city. I kept my comments on the girls buzzing around him to an icy minimum and he almost managed to pull off looking disinterested when I let slip anything about Elle. I made sure a picture of her was on my lock screen every time I saw him, and I pretended not to notice him stealing glances at my phone. I tried to talk to him about the breakup _once_. The flash of pain in his eyes before he shut me down spoke volumes.

Honestly, the Harvard hookups that spring bothered me less than when he met Megan. And I had to admit that _did_ bother me, no matter how many times I'd claimed to wish Elle and Noah would date anyone but each other. But Megan stopped bothering me as soon as I visited and saw them together. She was nice enough, and I'm sure they seemed happy to most people... but I'd seen Noah with Elle. This wasn't even close. I mentioned nothing to Elle and I pretended to be surprised when Noah told me they'd broken up.

Maybe I should have done something sooner. That second winter, when I knew Megan was out of the picture and Elle was finally admitting how much she missed Noah. Maybe I should have called Noah on his ridiculous avoidance and dragged his ass to Christmas dinner. But this needed to come from them, and I don't think they were ready. I think Noah still thought he could just _will_ himself into getting over her—and that he should. So when his San Francisco friends asked me for the story on Elle, I looked him straight in the eye as I told them that if he had ever deserved her he'd admit he missed her instead of stewing in his hurt feelings and crushed heart. And when he started to wise up, when he started to oh so casually inquire about Elle, I shut him down and made it clear he'd have to actually talk to her if he was curious. It still took way the hell too long, but I knew I was winning when he called on the second anniversary of Mike's accident to make sure I'd checked in with Elle that day. So when I found out Elle would be alone for her mom's birthday, instead of flying to LA myself as I initially considered, I made sure Noah knew about it.

Yeah, so that weekend didn't turn out quite as I expected. I can't do it all for them, okay? I mean, I specifically told Elle they had to talk through their issues before getting naked. At some point the ball is in their idiot hands and I have to just sit back and try not to cringe. But they seem to have dug their way out of the mess they made, yet again with timely help from the world's best future uncle, and now I just need to see for myself that they're on the right path.

So I watch them. I hear Elle laugh more freely than she has in years. I rediscover my brother's goofy side, absent for too long. I watch him watch her and I start to relax. There's disbelief and amazement in his eyes sometimes, but never doubt. The bitterness I'd heard all winter is gone from his voice, as is the hurt that had still lingered during my impromptu intervention.

Would it be disloyal of me to admit I didn't think Noah would take Elle's news as well as he has? I was sure he'd come around, but I feared it would take a lot longer. I worried he'd lock himself into a righteous fury over how long he was kept in the dark, convince himself she still didn't trust him. But I should have given him more credit. It's not the first time I've underestimated him, and you'd think by now I'd have learned that most of what I think I know about Noah goes out the window once Elle is involved.

Noah catches me staring and gives me a silent "What?" over Elle's shoulder as she chatters on. I look at her, then back at him, and just shake my head in disbelief at where we are. And I think he gets it, because his quizzical expression turns to a satisfied grin that I can't help but return.

But I will never, ever stop giving them shit.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Apologies for putting off family lunch - I started writing it, and then the idea for this chapter appeared and demanded to be written. Lee POV is not going to become a regular thing, but I'd always felt bad about skipping over the weekend Lee found out. It was necessary in order for the pregnancy to be revealed through Noah's eyes, but I still wanted to write it... and I decided now was the time for a glimpse of that weekend as well as Lee's take on where things stand now. (And one day, when this story is complete, I will finally finally finally write the extended version of Noah and Lee's post-prom conversation that I** _ **need**_ **to have happened.)**


	35. Rule Revisions

_**(Elle)**_

I wake up way too early Sunday morning to a flurry of kicks and then the feeling of Noah's hand sliding over my belly, followed by another volley of kicks. Or maybe punches, I can't really tell yet. Noah's hand shifts again, lightly pressing, and I realize he's intentionally chasing Dino around, provoking her. And as heartwarming as this little game of tag is, it's less cute when it's _my_ guts getting jabbed when I'd really rather still be asleep.

"Quit it," I mumble, my voice not quite working yet.

Noah's hand stills. "Awake already?" He asks, sounding surprised.

"Yeah. Because someone is being goaded into kicking me. You realize I can feel that, right?"

He laughs softly. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. She started it."

I roll over to face him. " _She started it_? Are you five? You realize you're supposed to be the grownup here, right?"

His expression sobers instantly. "Yeah. I do realize, as terrifying as that is. That's actually why I was awake," he admits.

"Are you doing the thing where you make a list in your head of things to do and then obsess over it?" I know him. That's how he deals with stress.

"I don't _obsess_. I plan."

"Let me guess. You're running through all the crap you think your dad is going to nag at us about."

"Pretty much."

"Go run," I tell him. "I can practically hear you getting worked up and it's stressing me out. Go run or to the gym or _something_ so you're not cranky for family lunch."

"I do not get cranky." Noah protests.

"You do. You get cranky if you don't work out, and it's even worse when you're worked up over something. You need to get this nervous energy out of your system."

"I can think of better ways of burning off energy."

It is way, way too early for the look he is giving me. " _After_. I told you, you're already amped up and stressing me out. And stop making Dino kick when I'm trying to sleep. Go run, let me sleep, and then we can talk. Or... not talk, if you're lucky."

"Dinah." He corrects me with a smug grin.

"GO." And we really need to get a place with a larger bed so I can actually roll away to express my annoyance.

Noah returns two hours later bearing coffee and muffins, and I am much, much friendlier to him then.

* * *

I am staring into my closet and realizing I am down to two pairs of uncomfortably tight yoga pants, drawstring lounge pants, and some leggings that keep rolling off my belly. I'm going to have to bite the bullet and buy actual maternity clothes. An idea occurs to me and I pick up my phone.

"Hey. Wanna go shopping?"

"Always. Where? I'm out of the loop on which thrift has the weirdest stuff these days." Lee asks.

"Nooo, I think I need the mall this time."

"What exactly are we shopping for?" Lee asks suspiciously.

"Nothing fits anymore. I have reached the limits of my stretchiest, loosest clothing."

"You're making me shop for maternity clothes?"

"Please? How is this different from all our other shopping?"

"The maternity store has those creepy pregnant mannequins. And this really seems like it should be Noah's job."

"Shopping is _our_ thing."

"No, this is pregnancy shopping. And everything pregnancy is his responsibility. For obvious reasons."

"But I need clothes _now_ or I'm going to be wearing pajama pants to class this week. And Noah is supposed to go talk to your dad this morning, before lunch. And Mickey is out of town. And you're right, those mannequins are creepy, so I don't want to go alone."

"For every minute I spend in the maternity store, we spend a minute in the comic book store after. And no comments about how the women are drawn, you've already made your opinions clear."

"Deal. Pick me up in the Mustang?"

"Always."

* * *

"Ok, wait by the mirrors while I try these on." I tell Lee, ducking into one of the dressing rooms. Peeling my overtight leggings from my waist is a relief, and yeah, it was past time for this shopping trip. I pull on the first pair of pants and burst out laughing at the ridiculous stretchy belly panel that rises practically to my bra.

I step out of the dressing room and twirl for Lee. "Lee, you've got to see this. These are the stupidest-looking pants I have ever - "

"Excuse me, but your husband can't be back here. " A stern-faced saleswoman appears.

"What? Oh, he's not my husband." I tell her, flustered. Lee looks horrified.

"Regardless. No men in the dressing room area, even the dads."

"Oh no, this is _not_ my baby." Lee protests emphatically.

The saleswoman is looking increasingly unsympathetic.

"You don't have to sound so _offended_ by the idea, Lee."

"I'm not offended! I'm just saying, this isn't my kid."

"It's his brother's baby." I try to clarify.

The saleswoman's eyebrows have now risen practically to her hairline. I don't think any of our explanations are helping.

"Whatever your... relationship... might be, he needs to get out of here." She says, icily.

"No, no, you're not getting it." I'm weirdly invested in defending our honor now. "We're not together. He's my _best friend_. And... also the uncle."

The saleswoman does not look any more convinced.

"See, I _told_ you it's weird. For _six years_ I've told you this is weird. Are you finally realizing everyone else thinks it's weird, too?" Lee asks, triumphantly. "Anyway, I'll be out here. Hurry up and find some giant pants so we can hit the comic book store."

Just for that, I _do_ make Lee listen again to all my opinions about comic book representations of women. But now I have pants that actually fit and shirts that don't end at my navel, and maybe next time I'll ask June to go shopping with me instead.

Speaking of June, inspiration strikes as Lee and I walk by a children's clothing store. This time I make him wait outside while I dash in to make a quick purchase.

* * *

"Did you forget how to drive living in Cambridge?" I complain to Lee. "I'm pretty sure we just got passed by a horse-drawn carriage. It'll be night by the time we get to my house."

"I'm driving carefully."

"You're driving like a grandma. And not my cool grandma, the other one."

"You are in my car."

"Yes. I know that. That's why I'm complaining. Although I'm not sure it qualifies as a car if it can't break fifty on the freeway."

"You're in my car, you're pregnant, and if anything happens to you at least three people at the lunch we're about to attend will compete to see who gets to kill me."

"Ugh. Fine. I'll just settle in for a nap. Wait, which three? And why won't the other two be upset?"

"Brad will be upset, but he's not big enough to kill me."

"And?"

"And... ah... Noah won't be competing, he'll just do it."

"Nice save. But it was your dad you weren't including in the three, wasn't it?"

Lee gives me a sheepish look. "Because he hates blood. He'd let the others do it."

"Admit it, he hates me now."

"Elle, he does not hate you."

"He summoned Noah this morning to lecture him about how I've ruined his life."

"Oh man, you've got that one backwards. He summoned Noah to lecture him about not ruining _your_ life. And probably also all their usual drama that has nothing to do with you."

I stare out the window for a while.

"Hey, Elle?" Lee asks.

"Yeah?"

"Neither of you ruined your lives. You know that, right? I think yesterday was the happiest I've seen Noah since... I don't know, maybe ever."

"It pains you to say that, doesn't it?" I'm only half joking.

"It really doesn't. I know I was a jerk about you two originally, but I wised up a long time ago. Although if you could cut down on the grossness, that'd be appreciated."

"I see him two days a week and you invited yourself over for one of them," I glare at Lee. "The _whole_ day. That is a lot of lost quality time."

Lee pretends to gag, but he's laughing. "I was going to say I was chaperoning to make sure you guys didn't get carried away and get yourselves in trouble, but then I remembered..." Lee gestures at my belly.

" _Shut up_."

"You know why we had rule number nine, right?"

"Because you were afraid Noah and I would get ourselves into trouble?"

"No, sorry, change of subject. I was done discussing your contraceptive incompetence."

" _Ninety-seven percent_ , Lee. I am not _incompetent_ , I am _unlucky_. And next time don't relocate your condom stash without telling me."

"Oh no, now I'm hiding them all from you. I mean, after a reasonable interval. You guys cut my potential niece and nephew supply in half by pairing up, so you're going to have to make up for it by having at least, like, six. Really, it's a good thing you're getting started early."

"I'm—I'm not even going to dignify that terrifying bit of insanity with a response."

"Anyway, I told you, I was changing subjects. That's not why we had the rule."

"You added number nine, so please, illuminate me. Because I was never concerned about you and Brad."

"I didn't want you two hooking up because I didn't want you two breaking up. Because then everything would be really awkward. And I'd have to pick sides. And it would suck."

I'm not sure what he wants me to say, because that's exactly what happened. "Are you really still mad at me? I'm sorry we put you through all that, but I'm not sorry for breaking the rule."

"Jesus, Elle, no, that's not what I was getting at. At all."

We're into neighborhood streets now, and Lee pulls over and parks in front of a random house before turning to look at me.

"I added that rule because back then I couldn't see how it _wouldn't_ end badly, and I selfishly didn't want my best friend and my brother hating each other for the rest of my life. And, you do recall Noah's track record before you, right? I wanted better for you. But I was wrong about all of it. _That's_ what I was trying to say. I should have added a caveat to the rule. _Relatives are totally off-limits unless you're so disgustingly suited that anything else makes you miserable, in which case no breaking up and for the love of God no PDA_."

"That's—a really long rule. That I still broke."

"Just don't break it again. Well, I've given up on the PDA part."

"So, no pressure or anything. We just have to stay together forever or risk your wrath."

"Elle, I was joking. I just want you to be happy. And if being with Noah ever weren't making you happy, my feelings about it should be the last thing you consider. I didn't mean for it to sound like pressure. It was... a really poorly executed attempt at saying I had no idea what I was talking about when I made that rule, no idea who you two would turn out to be. Well, who you probably already were and I just didn't see it. Let me try this again. _Relatives are totally off-limits unless you're so disgustingly suited that anything else makes you miserable, in which case do what makes you happy and Lee will find a way to deal_. Better?"

"I can work with that." I smile.

Lee reaches for the ignition, then seems to change his mind and turns to face me again.

"Hey, Elle—are you getting pressure from people? From our parents? It seemed like I struck a nerve just now."

"No, not from our parents. Well, I don't know what your dad thinks. I guess we're about to find out. But my dad and your mom have both been going out of their way to tell us there's no rush and they'll be happy with whatever we decide about our relationship, as long as we're in _this_ together. It's the casual friends and random strangers who make the comments about shotgun weddings and how the clock is ticking. And they're usually saying it jokingly, but it still grates."

"Because you don't want to?" Lee seems hesitant to ask.

"Because I don't want to _like this_. I don't want to get married because of an accidental pregnancy, or because of any other thing outside our control. If we did, it should be... because we want to, for us. An actual choice. And I just don't see how anything we decide right now wouldn't feel like it's because of the baby. So I could do without the constant assumption we should be racing to the altar just because I'm pregnant."

"Have you talked about it? The two of you, I mean."

"Ha. No. I'm pretty sure Noah fears I'll freak out and run away if he even mentions it."

"Would you?" Lee asks gently.

"I wouldn't run away. But I don't particularly want to talk about it, no. Things are good. Really good. But there's no way we'd be talking about marriage if I weren't pregnant. So I'd kind of like to just enjoy where we are right now, and deal with _this_ , and let the rest of it evolve on its own timeline."

"But you're okay with him moving in, right? You're not just... saying that because he wants to? Or because you think you have to?"

"No, I really do want to. But moving in is different. It's less emotional and more... logistics. I don't mean I'm doing it just because it's practical. But that timeline being rushed by the baby doesn't bother me the same way. I don't know. Marriage is just different. More important. And I don't want any part of _that_ decision to be about practicality, and now is absolutely not the time."

"You guys need to talk about this."

"We need to talk about the fact that I don't want to talk about it?"

"Just... if you're right that he's worried you'll freak out, don't you want him to know that's not it?"

"I guess." He has a point.

"Do you... want _me_ to say something?" Lee asks cautiously.

"God, no, please don't. That'd be even worse—if Noah thinks I'm talking to you about it instead of him."

"Aren't you?"

"Only because you brought it up. I know it doesn't make sense. But no, absolutely do not talk to Noah about this. Maybe you're right and I need to find some way to tell him some form of this. But it cannot be _you_."

"Okay." Lee says after a pause. "I promise, I'm staying out of this. But if anyone makes a shotgun wedding joke while I'm around, I'll punch them."

I raise an eyebrow at Lee.

"And by 'punch,' I mean shut them down with my razor wit and a stern but nonviolent look."

"Better."

"Alright, you ready for lunch?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. Which isn't saying much. If things get too uncomfortable, would you mind confessing some huge terrible mistake to distract everyone? It doesn't even need to be anything bad. Just distracting."

"Announce my plan to not turn in my thesis, drop out two credits shy of my degree, and try my luck at stand-up comedy instead?"

"Perfect. Please?"

"Only for you."

Lee starts the car again and we make our way the last few streets to my house. Or, I guess, my dad's house—it occurs to me for the first time that I may not ever live there again, and I'm not sure how to feel about that. But I was telling Lee the truth about moving in with Noah. I unreservedly want to, can't wait to, and I've stopped worrying about whether that decision was accelerated by the pregnancy. It was, and that's fine—we've wasted too much time apart already and our current weekday separation is hard enough. But that other big question—I was telling the truth there too. A truth that I probably do need to address with Noah, somehow. Because it's not about him, or about feeling panicked; some decisions just deserve to be made on their own merits. Or maybe it _is_ about him. Because I love him too much, have loved him too long, to rush this part.

But I'll have to think about how to have that conversation later, because for now I've got a family lunch to attend. A family lunch whose guest of honor is currently kicking up a storm right below my ribs. I get it, Dinah, it's a big occasion, but you're going to need to chill. I mean, at least one of us should stay zen, and _I_ definitely can't.

"You ready for this?" Lee asks after parking in front of the house.

"Not even a little bit."

"Awesome. Popcorn?" Lee offers, retrieving a bag from the back seat.

"You actually brought popcorn? That wasn't just a joke?"

"Oh no, that was dead serious. Come on, this is going to be the best family lunch ever. I mean, for me at least."

It's not often that I see the family resemblance, but when Lee smirks like that? Yeah, definitely brothers.

 _ **A/N: I know, I know, how did I put off family lunch *again*? What can I say, I was having too much fun with Lee, plus I wanted to get this last conversation in. I swear, family lunch does in fact take place next time.**_


	36. Family Lunch

_**(Elle)**_

June is already at the house when Lee and I arrive, but no sign of Noah or his dad yet. June shoos Lee off to the kitchen under orders to help my dad and Brad finish getting lunch ready, then sits the two of us down in the living room.

"Here," she says, handing me a small bag. "I'd meant to give this back to you when we had dinner, but I completely forgot."

I'm not sure what June would have to give back to me until I look in the bag and feel my cheeks blaze. It's the tell-tale shirt, the one that I'd gotten soaked and sandy at the Pier, then forgotten in the dryer at Noah's house, now neatly folded and tucked into white tissue paper.

"I thought you might want that back." June says with a mischievous look, laughing at my reaction.

"I, um, yeah. Thanks. Although, it's going to be a while before I can wear this again."

"Do you need to go shopping?" The longing in June's tone is evident.

"I actually do. I made Lee go with me this morning, but he was entirely unhelpful and then a scary saleslady told him he couldn't be near the dressing rooms, so I didn't have a chance to buy much."

"Maybe next weekend we could go, if I can steal you away from Noah for a bit?"

I blush again. "Yeah, I'd like that. Speaking of, are Noah and Matthew still at your house? Was their whole talk... going okay?"

"Oh, don't worry. You know Matthew's not nearly as upset as Noah thinks he is, right? Those two just cannot talk about _anything_ without butting heads."

"You think?"

"Matthew hasn't yet accepted both of his boys are old enough to figure out their own lives. Noah hasn't yet realized that his dad wanting to give advice doesn't mean his dad disapproves of what he's doing. Honestly, I think they're arguing more about Noah's job decisions than anything involving you or this baby."

"Matthew doesn't think I'm... dragging Noah down?"

"Why in the world would he think that?"

"Because I'm—saddling Noah with this baby. Tying him down." I look down, fidgeting with my hands.

" _You_ didn't do anything _Noah_ didn't also do. I do recall how this works, you know."

"We, ah, we weren't being completely... irresponsible, you know. Just, I guess, unlucky." I can't believe I'm telling June this, but I just need to get it off my chest. We did actually listen to all those very uncomfortable lectures of hers.

June laughs. "It happens, Elle. And it was still _both_ of you."

"I guess."

"Anyway, regardless of how this happened, I promise you Matthew doesn't think you're dragging Noah down. And he's always liked you. He's just a worrier, and I know he has a list of things he wants to talk to you both about. But I've already told him today's lunch is not the time for that. Oh, Elle, I am just so glad to have all of you here again. It's been too long."

"Yeah, definitely too long." I give June an awkward smile, because we both know why it's been so long.

"And next time, bring Mickey. I need to thank her for watching out for you and my grandchild."

"Since I was too clueless to figure it out myself, you mean?"

"Oh, honey, I should have seen it too. You looked so pale at Christmas, and you flinched every time I offered you food."

"Except for that pie. That pie you made was the first thing that had tasted good in weeks."

"Well, I'm glad for that. I did almost ask you what happened in October, that evening. It was so obvious _something_ had gone wrong, especially after Noah didn't show. But then you and Lee holed up in his room, talking, and I figured I should stay out of it."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I'd seen Noah. I just... there was a lot going on and I felt pretty terrible about all of it. And I do want to tell you about it, at some point."

"Another time, if you want. But Elle, you don't owe me explanations. I'm happy enough knowing you two found your way back together, no matter how you got there."

"I still... there are still things I want to tell you."

"Then whenever you want, we'll talk."

June pulls me into a hug, and I relax against her shoulder a minute, so grateful to have her back. Suddenly I remember my earlier impulse purchase. I'd intended to bring it out at lunch, but now I want to have this moment with June, alone.

"I, ah, have something for you." I tell June as I rise from the couch and retrieve a gift-wrapped bundle from my bag. I'd asked the store for the plain wrapping paper, to make the contents less obvious.

"For me?" June's confusion turns to shocked delight as she tears the paper and pulls out a tiny dress in a cheery floral print. She stares at me, as if awaiting confirmation.

"I know you said you wanted to get to shop for tiny dresses, so maybe next time we can go together?" I ask her with a nervous smile.

I am suddenly swept back into June's arms. "A girl? Oh, I am so thrilled. I would have been thrilled either way, but I have to admit I'm extra thrilled now."

"We were going to tell everyone at lunch, but I couldn't wait. But can you pretend to be surprised when we do announce it?"

"I'm sure I'll have no trouble tearing up all over again." June laughs. "Oh, Elle, I'm just so happy for you. A baby girl."

June's expression turns wistful, and I sense we're thinking about the same thing. Or rather, the same person, the one whose absence, over years dulled to a familiar background ache, is suddenly sharp and searing again.

"She would have been thrilled too. And not just about a granddaughter. About all of this, the two of you together." June whispers into my hair.

"You think?"

"I know."

I let June hold me tighter, and I'm not sure how long we stay like that, silently thinking of her. It's the sound of tires on the gravel driveway that finally has me sit up, and I look out the window to see Matthew and Noah step out of a car. The same car, so I guess at least they're still speaking to each other enough for that.

I meet them at the door and it's more than a little awkward, greeting Matthew. He smiles when he sees me, although I can also see the discomfort in his eyes as he takes in the sight of me. Maybe I'm not giving him enough credit, but I have a feeling that the specter of me, pregnant, was one of those things he dreaded in the abstract for a long time, and isn't quite sure what to do with now that it's a reality.

"Elle, hello. We've missed seeing you this winter. And I was glad to hear from Noah that this is all... going well."

Which isn't quite the same as congratulating us, or saying he's happy for us, but it'll do for now. Noah is rolling his eyes at me from behind Matthew, and I can tell he's stifling a laugh at his dad's stiff attempt at cordiality. It's honestly not all that different from how Matthew's always been. Sometimes I wonder whether he and June are an opposites attract situation or whether he's got a secret sentimental side that only she knows about.

Dad appears, rescuing us from further awkward small talk by announcing that Matthew and Noah are just in time and lunch is ready. I watch with nervous curiosity as Noah reaches to shake Dad's hand and instead finds himself pulled into a brief one-armed hug. I know they've talked at least once, although I think this is the first they've seen each other since the news. I look at Dad, and the smile he's giving Noah is warm and genuine.

I'd dreaded telling Dad I was pregnant, convinced he'd be so disappointed, so furious with both of us. But he hasn't been. He's been concerned, and for a long time he was frustrated that I still hadn't told Noah. But I guess Dad was telling the truth all those times he said he just wanted to see the two of us working this out together, because he's been surprisingly positive about all this since Noah and I started talking.

I start to follow Dad and Matthew to the dining room, but Noah draws me back, wrapping an arm around me and leaning down to kiss me.

"Noah!"

"What, concerned our parents will find out about us?" He chuckles before kissing me again.

"You're certainly in a good mood. Things went okay with your dad?"

"I'll catch you up later, but it was fine."

The annoyed look that passes over his face as he says it makes me suspect there's a little more to the story than _fine_ , but that will have to wait.

June motions for me to sit next to her when we get to the dining room, and as I sit down I see Noah and Lee both step toward the seat on my other side. Thankfully, this time Lee notices he's being glared at and walks around the table to sit opposite me instead, smirking as he watches me reach for Noah's hand under the table and grip it for reassurance. Also watching and laughing is my dad, who hasn't missed a moment of this ridiculous fraternal interaction.

"Before we eat," June says, looking around the table, "I'd just like to say how happy I am to have all of us here together again. It just hasn't been the same since you kids started going off to college."

We all know that isn't the only reason family lunches have been incomplete for years, but I'm glad we're not going there. I wonder if June is going to say more, and I see Lee's mouth twitch as if about to let loose some smartass comment, but mercifully we all leave it there, distracted by Dad's carving of the roast chicken and our usual squabbles over who wants what piece.

Dad passes me the bottle of Tabasco without prompting and this time it's Lee staring in horrified fascination as I drown my mashed potatoes in it, while Noah just laughs. I'm starting to relax, but I'm very glad that we didn't wait until today to tell Noah's parents, suddenly imagining a much, much more awkward scene at the door.

Dad and June, bless them, are both working hard to keep this lunch feeling ordinary. Dad is asking Lee about his graduation plans, while June is chatting with me about Mickey and Brad is talking Noah's ear off about some video game, which really leaves only Matthew uncomfortably watching us all. We're all carefully avoiding the elephant in the room, and I can't help but giggle as it hits me that _I_ am that elephant. Me and my rapidly expanding belly.

"You too, Elle?" Matthew asks absentmindedly after refilling June's wine glass.

"I'm good, thanks. Just, uh, water these days." I say, half embarrassed.

"Of course. I wasn't thinking." Matthew mutters. "Sorry, I guess I'm still, ah, getting used to the news."

"Me too," I admit, giving him a small smile that I'm pleasantly surprised to see returned.

And apparently everyone else overheard our exchange, because now they're all awkwardly quiet. Well, if we're finally acknowledging the elephant, might as well let Dumbo fly. I scoot my chair back so I can stand.

"Since we're all _not_ talking about the same thing, maybe I should go ahead and say that Noah and I have some news." Lee smirks at me, one eyebrow high. "Ah, I mean, in addition to _this_ news," I say as I wave at my belly. "Which you all already know about. Even if we didn't tell everyone as ... promptly as maybe we should have."

I think Noah realizes what I'm about to announce, because he turns to watch June with a sly smile. Probably I should fess up later that I already told her.

"Anyway, what I was going to say is that we wanted to let you all know that it's a girl. This baby, I mean. We found out on Friday."

Dad is staring at me with a suspiciously damp-eyed smile, and after a beat he rises from his chair and walks over to wrap me in an enveloping hug. He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't need to; we know we're both thinking the same thing. He laughs as he releases me and rests a hand on Noah's shoulder. "And, ah, good luck with that. May she be exactly as delightful and infuriating as her mother."

"Dad!" I yelp, just as Noah cheerily responds "That's the hope and fear, obviously."

"The alternative is taking after _him_ , so they'd better hope Elle's genes dominate." Lee snarks. "Which we all know is what will happen, given who's always been in charge here," he adds, this time only loud enough for me and Noah to hear, and I'm fairly certain from Lee's sudden grimace that Noah's foot just _accidentally_ collided with Lee's shin. It should probably worry me more the extent to which impending fatherhood and unclehood are making the two of them regress to childhood antics.

As promised, June is just as teary as the first time she heard the news, and she pulls me in for her own lingering hug as I sit back down. "A girl. Oh, I am so thrilled. So, so thrilled. I can't wait."

I see Lee laugh and look at Noah. "Makes you feel really warm and fuzzy, doesn't it, hearing how glad Mom is to finally get a girl?"

"Look, I tried to help," Noah replies. "I kept asking if we could swap you for Elle, back then. She was way less annoying."

"Which just makes _this_ even weirder. I'm still not sure how I'm the only one in this family who sees the weirdness in this whole quasi incestuous situation."

"Get over it, Lee." June laughs. "And I'll have you know I loved having boys, even if you were both utter terrors. But yes, now I'm excited for a girl."

"Well, I'm not happy at all it's a girl." Brad declares dejectedly from the end of the table.

"Don't worry, Brad, I'm sure the next one will be a boy." Lee smiles innocently.

"LEE!" I sputter at the same time Noah whips his head up to stare at Lee with a warning in his eyes.

"I think one is quite enough for now," Dad laughs awkwardly.

"Oh, I'm glad to hear Lee is so excited for babies. But don't you think this one needs a cousin before we start worrying about siblings? Do you think you and Jenna might feel ready soon?" June asks him sweetly.

"Mom! Are you insane?" Lee gapes at her.

"Don't you want your kids to be compatible ages? You're going to have to hurry up." June chides him.

Lee looks completely gobsmacked, but I catch the twinkle in June's eye and realize she's having fun with him.

"I'm _twenty-two_."

"So am I." I point out helpfully, enjoying Lee's mounting panic.

"Literally THIS WEEK you lectured me about contraception."

"Well, I figured a reminder wouldn't hurt, given recent events. And see, Lee, it's not so funny when it's _you_ being volunteered to have babies, is it? So lay off Elle and Noah. Mike's right, one is quite enough to worry about for now."

Now that the seal has been broken on the baby topic, the awkwardness that had hung over our earlier conversations has lifted. This finally feels like a normal family lunch again, and it's just... nice. Familiar. Comforting.

Dad and Matthew are talking, and while their voices are too low for me to overhear, I can guess the topic from their occasional glances my way. I can only hope Dad's confidence in us will rub off on Matthew, and I still need the story on this morning from Noah. He and Lee are arguing about something or other and Brad is hanging on their every word, sometimes interjecting his own comments, so eager to join in.

Not moving home feels a bit like abandoning Brad, even if that doesn't make any sense; I won't really be any less present than I was living on campus this year. It's just that I'd expected to come back here, so it's strange to realize my last day living at home may have passed without any of us knowing it. I guess all that assumes things will work out with Noah. But that's what I'm going to plan on, because worrying won't help any. And as I watch Brad stare at Lee and Noah with unconcealed admiration, I realize he's probably way more excited about Noah moving back to LA than he is sad I won't be moving home.

Noah's arm is propped on the back of my chair and he's casually playing with my hair as he chats with Lee and Brad, a detail I realize has not escaped June's notice as she gives me a knowing look.

"I'd missed this version of my son," she says, only loud enough for me to hear.

And yeah, I had too. And I'd missed this version of me.

* * *

"Hey, Noah, can I borrow your height for a minute? I need some books I can't reach." I call to Noah from the stairs as he's helping Brad clean up after lunch.

"Why do you insist on storing things out of your own reach, Shelly?"

"They're within my reach if I climb the shelf. But that's hard to do right now, and I was thinking you'd rather I not attempt it."

"Yeah, we're in agreement there." Noah mutters as he follows me up the stairs.

The instant we step into my room, I push the door closed behind us and pull him down for a kiss, walking him backwards to my bed.

"You don't actually need help with any books, do you?" Noah laughs as he sits on the bed and lifts me onto his lap.

"My room was very lonely. It's missed you."

"From the look your dad shot us, I don't think anyone else believed your book excuse either."

"So I'll make sure I'm carrying books when we go back downstairs."

"And when will that be? Exactly how slowly am I retrieving these books? Maybe we could tell them you needed me to alphabetize the bookshelves, too. That should buy us a solid half hour."

"Oh, don't give me that look. I didn't lure you up here to seduce you. Or at least not... that much. And I do actually need some books I can't reach. I just _also_ wanted to do this."

"Are you sure you don't want the shelves alphabetized? I can alphabetize _very_ quietly, and as quickly or slowly as you think we can get away with." His grin is almost enough to convince me.

"I don't doubt your _alphabetization_ prowess, but the demonstration will need to wait. I really did just want to kiss you." I lounge back against the pillows, pulling Noah down with me, and we stay curled there a minute, just enjoying being here again. I wonder if he's also thinking about how long it's been since he was in this room.

"You rearranged everything," he comments eventually, so I guess we are thinking the same thing. "And repainted."

"You noticed?" I rearranged every room in the house at least twice while Dad was hospitalized. I had too many idle hours requiring distraction, and organizing felt like control.

"I do have quite a few memories of this room. Fond memories."

I prop myself on an elbow to look at Noah, my other hand playing with the buttons of his shirt. "I realized on the way over here I'd probably never live here again. Since we're moving in together, I mean."

"And—are you okay with that?" Noah asks after a pause.

"Yeah," I nod after my own long pause. "It was just a weird realization. When I packed up last August, I assumed I'd be back. I had no idea... well, about any of how this year would play out."

"Trust me, this year has been a surprise for me as well."

"A good one, I hope?" I'd meant it jokingly, but I find my voice shaking as I say it, and I can see from Noah's expression that he's taking the question seriously.

"There was some rough going for a while there. But this part, now? Yeah, the best surprise. And I don't just mean Dinah. All of it. You and me."

"You keep up this mushy talk and I might start to think you really like me."

"That's the plan, yes."


	37. The New Normal

**Four Pressing Concerns Addressed and One Deferred**

 ** _(Elle)_**

Things settle down after family lunch, and it's a welcome break after the last few weeks. Not that life gets any _slower_ , but it starts to feel more predictable as we figure out our new normal. Weekdays haven't changed much, with classes and lab and library shifts keeping me busy during the day and dinners with Mickey, but now there's Noah on the phone every night before I fall asleep. I'm also hanging out with friends more than I had all winter, when depression over October and then panic over the pregnancy had narrowed my circle nearly down to Mickey and Lee. It's my last quarter of college, not to mention my last few months of childless freedom, so I try to make the most of it. And then, on Fridays, Noah shows up and we fill our two short days together with as many conversations and adventures as possible. I keep offering to come up to San Francisco, but so far there's always been some reason to stay in LA.

We've also been spending a lot of time on all those details we'd put off dealing with while getting _us_ straightened out. June was right about Matthew not being opposed, just a worrier, and he's got a long to-do list he likes to nag us about. He's not wrong, of course; Dinah will be here in three months and we've still got a lot of work ahead of us. We need a place to live. Noah needs a job and I'd like some kind of plan to not feel like I'm dropping out forever. There are still a lot of people who need to hear our news. And, most importantly, we need to wrap our heads around the idea that we're about to become parents.

* * *

 **One: Home**

 ** _(Elle)_**

We get lucky and our search for a place to live ends almost before it's begun. Noah insists that in a year or two we'll be moving so I can go to grad school, so buying doesn't make sense, and we're in agreement that we don't want an entire house and yard to worry about when we're busy wrangling an infant, so that focuses the search on apartments. Location is a bigger challenge, since we have no idea where Noah will be working. I spend several hours the week after family lunch making a list of potential neighborhoods, identifying promising apartment complexes within each, and building an intricate spreadsheet of what I think we're looking for and where we might find it. Then, on Friday, I have lunch with a classmate and mention the long list of places we need to visit over the weekend, and how I still have no idea how to decide despite my crazy spreadsheet. And then the classmate mentions her aunt's job is sending her to London for two years and that the tenants she'd found for her apartment just flaked at the last minute.

A few phone calls and a day later Noah and I are visiting that apartment, and somehow on Sunday we've signed a lease. It's not too far from our parents yet closer to downtown, there's a pool and a gym and a playground, and let's be honest, the decision was made once I saw the ice cream shop around the corner. Jen, our new landlord, is leaving all her furniture behind and tells us to just move anything we don't need into storage; she's flying out in four days and so relieved to have found replacement tenants that I think she'd agree even if we asked to paint the whole place purple. And that's how the next weekend we find ourselves sitting in what still feels like someone else's living room.

"Any minute now the actual grownups who live here are going to come home and kick us out, you know." I joke to Noah as we stretch out on the couch and watch the sun start to set out the balcony doors.

"That would be us, Shelly. We live here."

"Don't accuse me of being a grownup. And 'live' might be too strong a word when the only things of ours in this apartment are some clothes and our toothbrushes."

"I'll bring over some of my old motorcycle posters next weekend, and you can hang Christmas lights all over. I'm sure we can get this place looking way less grownup in no time."

"That would help, yes." It really would. Jen's decor is way too mature and I'm going to need a slower ramp-up from dorm living.

We spend that weekend rearranging Jen's furniture until the place feels more like ours. We keep most of her bedroom furniture, but we empty out her office to use as a nursery and I keep joking to Noah that we need to replace the bed in the spare bedroom with bunk beds for Lee and Brad. Not that Lee is likely to be around much—he hasn't made up his mind yet, but none of the jobs he's considering are in LA. A long time ago Lee and I had drawn up elaborate plans for the apartment we planned to share one day; being nine, we were most excited about our decision to install a soft-serve machine. I might need to find those plans and the accompanying red-inked list of house rules, particularly the one banning Noah, and hang them in the living room. There's a lot nine-year-old Elle didn't predict quite accurately. In my defense, though, Noah was _really_ obnoxious to us back then.

By the time Noah heads to the airport Sunday afternoon, the apartment is starting to feel like home. Or at least, the promise of a new home and new adventures. I'm going to finish out the quarter on campus and Noah's got another six or so weeks until he can move down, but I like seeing that new key on my key ring and everything it represents. And there is no more grumbling about twin beds and no more sweet-talking Mickey into disappearing on weekends; finally we have our own place to escape to.

* * *

 **Two: News**

 ** _(Elle)_**

It's Lee who reminds me we aren't done sharing the news. He runs into one of my BU roommates at a party and when she asks how I'm doing Lee realizes she hasn't heard from me in years. I'd tried to keep in touch with my Boston friends after leaving, but it was hard being reminded of everything I was missing; after a while, I stopped logging in to any of my social media accounts, stopped responding to our group texts, just kind of disappeared. To be honest, none of my BU friendships were that close—I had plenty of casual friends, classmates, dorm mates, team mates, but with Noah and Lee around I never felt the need for, or had the time for, new confidantes. And then it was easier to just start fresh at UCLA, to create a new life and make new friends, and not be asked or reminded about Noah all the time.

But I do miss my old friends, and it would be nice to see any who are still in Boston when I fly out for Lee's graduation. Two years seems like too long of a silence to explain in a post that people might not even see, so I spend some time agonizing over an email. Finally, I decide to keep it simple. I apologize for dropping off the face of the earth, I update them on Dad's recovery, I explain I transferred to UCLA because he and Brad needed me around. I mention I'm coming to Boston soon, and that I'd love to see anyone still around. And then I add that it might be my last trip East for a while, because Noah and I are expecting a baby in July. And that's all I say. Some of my Boston friends knew about the break-up, others may never have heard, but either way they don't need the details or the timelines. Just the important part, which is where we are now.

I bcc everyone I've missed, then send off the message before I can second guess myself. The replies start pouring in almost immediately, my phone exploding with alerts. I almost put off looking at the responses, feeling overwhelmed, but Mickey tells me I'm being a wuss and makes me read every single one while she sits next to me on the couch. And it's kind of awesome, hearing from so many long lost friends all at once. Realizing I was missed. No one seems at all surprised Noah and I are still, or are back, together, but the baby news definitely gets some reactions. Within a few hours one of my old roommates has started organizing a get-together during my Boston trip, and now I have one more thing to look forward to that weekend.

Which leaves... the high school crowd. Besides my Flynns, Rachel is the only one I stayed in actual touch with, even after how awkward things got when she and Lee broke up. She and I haven't spoken since winter—more accurately, I haven't replied to any of her messages since January—so I guess I owe her a call and an update. The rest of the Country Day crowd I stopped hearing from once I dropped off social media; frankly, I don't miss many of them. I'm tempted to just let Noah decide whom he wants to tell, and how. Then one Friday I hear a familiarly annoying voice behind me as I wait for my drink at a coffee shop. It's Mia, and she's headed straight for me. Awesome.

"Ellen? Oh my god, it _is_ you!"

"Uh, Mia, hey. What are you, uh, doing around here?" I'm still facing the espresso bar counter, and at first I wonder whether there's any way I can escape this conversation without ever turning around to face Mia. But what the hell, I'm not sure why I'm hiding. I turn and give her a wide smile, then enjoy her double take as her eyes sweep over me and stall over my midsection.

" _Oh. My. God._ Are you— _pregnant_?"

No, pea brain, I'm just smuggling a basketball for no apparent reason.

"Sure looks that way, doesn't it?"

" _Oh. My. God._ "

"Do you want to, uh, sit down and catch up?" I offer. At least this solves the problem of how to update the Country Day crowd: tell Mia, and within hours everyone else will know.

She follows me to a table, speechless for once in her life, and I serenely sip my iced decaf while enjoying her shock.

"Wow. Well, I'm glad you finally moved on."

I look at her curiously.

"From Flynn. I mean, we all knew that wasn't going to last. I was surprised you managed to hang on to him as long as you did. It's great you found someone else."

Right. They did all hear about the breakup, and I'm guessing the other Country Day alum in Noah's dorm at Harvard was just as eager to update them about his return to the single life as she was me. And Mia _is_ a tremendous bitch.

"Oh, yeah. Of course. I mean, what were we even thinking? Who ever thought that would work, right?" I can't help it. I kind of want to see how deep a hole she'll dig herself.

"Well, I wasn't going to say so then... but yeah. I mean, come on, you and Flynn? Although, it's too bad. Imagine how cute _his_ babies would be."

"Oh, I've definitely given that some thought."

The coffee shop's door opens and I bite my lip to keep from smiling as Mia leans in, thirsty for fresh gossip.

"So, spill. Tell me everything. You're back in LA? And you're pregnant? I need to hear all about this new man." Mia's eyes flick down to my left hand and its bare ring finger. "Oh, I'm sorry—is he still around, the father?"

I'd be more offended by her transparently insincere concern if I weren't trying so hard not to laugh.

"Oh yeah, he's around." Just a few more seconds to make his way through the crowded seating area...

"Elle, babe, sorry I'm late. The interview ran long."

Aaaaand there he is, fresh from another job interview in what is fast becoming my favorite suit of his. Noah gives Dinah an affectionate pat as he sits down, and I really couldn't have scripted this better.

" _Oh. My. God_."

Yeah, I'm starting to remember why she and her clique got that name. Mia is gaping at us and Noah finally notices I'm not alone at the table.

"Mia, hey. I didn't realize you were still in LA. So, you two catching up?" Noah politely inquires.

"Well, we just sat down. I hadn't had a chance yet to tell her much. Mia, you remember Noah, right?" I ask her with a dazzling smile.

And as predicted, by the end of the day our entire graduating classes, not to mention a few before and after us, have been alerted to this apparently earth-shaking development. I get a message from Tuppen congratulating us and thanking me for winning him the pool, and I probably don't want to know what exactly they were betting on or what the losing guesses were. Rachel is thrilled, too—I hurry to call her as soon as Mia is gone, wanting to tell her personally before Mia starts alerting the world. She's living in New York now, and as always I feel a pang of regret that it didn't work out with Lee.

So that's another task satisfyingly checked off our to-do list.

* * *

 **Three: Parenthood**

 ** _(Noah)_**

The news is finally fully out, and the consensus from my high school and college friends seems to be a lack of surprise about our being back together, some surprise about the baby, and extreme skepticism of my parenting skills. So, thanks for _that_ vote of confidence. Lee and Adam agree I'm in need of guidance, judging from the books recently delivered to my doorstep. Adam's contribution is sincere: he rounded up the books his sisters told him were most useful. Lee's contribution is rather less helpful: it's a picture book entitled _The Complete Idiot's Guide to Babies_ , and he's scrawled additional advice on the cover in black marker: _Just do whatever Elle and Mom tell you to do_.

They're not wrong that I know nothing about babies, but it's not the practical aspects of parenthood that I'm worried about. Look, I'm a reasonably smart guy and Elle's a genius, so between the two of us I'm sure we can figure out how to keep a baby alive. No, it's the bigger picture stuff that has me up at night. The unending responsibility. The need to make decisions based on Dinah's best interests, not mine or even ours. The disrupted expectations. Not much more than a month ago I was making plans for a very different looking summer, a very different looking next year. I'm glad for the changes, but it's still a lot to wrap my head around in a very short time. And again and again I remind myself that none of this is any easier for Elle; she's known a little longer than I have, but she's also had more to deal with. So I'm glad we've got housing sorted out and are done sharing the news, because I think we need to spend the next few weekends ignoring the rest of the world and just letting ourselves adjust, together, to this whole new landscape.

But it's probably for the best that we can't ignore the rest of the world all week long, because I'm also realizing we can't do this without our friends. Or shouldn't try, at least. Adam's book delivery reassures me not because we couldn't have come up with that information on our own, but because it's evidence of one more person in our corner, watching out. And Lee was right when he'd said Mickey was probably my best ally in all of this—I hate to think what this winter would have been like for Elle without her. And, yeah, then there's Lee; I might be willing to go so far as to admit that my brother has his moments and that having him on our side is better than the alternative.

Adam's the one who brings up Mother's Day, asking whether I'm planning anything for Elle. To which I have no answer. Not because it hadn't occurred to me that the holiday has taken on new relevance, but because I just don't know how, or even whether, to acknowledge that. It's been a hard day for Elle ever since her mom died, and in the past she's opted to ignore it as much as possible. There's not really any good way to find out what she'd prefer other than to just ask, and so I do, later that evening as we video chat.

"So, Mother's Day is coming up. And I know you usually want nothing to do with it, but I wasn't sure if that's still what you want. Or whether it would be okay for us to celebrate. Since it's... your day now, too."

Elle doesn't respond right away, and I watch her twist at her bracelet, chewing on her lip, before finally answering.

"I think I'd rather not do anything. If that's okay with you. Maybe next year I'll want to celebrate, but I'm not ready this year. But—thank you for asking."

"Should I clear out for the day? Or stick around and we'll just—ignore the holiday?"

"I'd like to be on my own," she admits after another long pause, still fussing at her bracelet rather than looking at me. "Go see your mom. I'll do my own thing for the day."

It's about what I expected she'd say, and we don't discuss it further, but I keep thinking about it after our call. Even if Elle doesn't want to celebrate, I can't help wanting to acknowledge the milestone in some way. She'd looked torn as she weighed her words to answer me, and finally it occurs to me what she'd been anxiously tugging and twisting at. That bracelet was Joni's, and Elle has worn it almost daily since Mike gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday. It's a narrow gold chain with half a dozen tiny inset rubies interspersed, and suddenly I know what I want. I ask Mickey to send me a picture of the bracelet, to be sure I'm remembering it right, and then I go hunting online.

That weekend we make no mention of the holiday, and on Sunday morning we part for the week earlier than usual so I can meet my mom for lunch. I don't ask Elle what she's got planned for the day, but before leaving I tuck a small box under her pillow. Elle doesn't acknowledge the present right away, but the next time we video chat I can't help a satisfied grin when I catch a flash of crimson as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

"You're very bad at following directions. I'm fairly certain I said you didn't need to do anything for Mother's Day," Elle comments when she realizes what I'm looking at.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You had no role in these showing up under my pillow?"

"Absolutely none. Cross my heart."

"Well, that's too bad. If you'd had I'd thank you. They match perfectly."

Which I already knew, because I'd sat them side by side while Elle was still asleep Sunday morning. The ruby studs set in gold are nearly identical to those in her bracelet, and sometimes it pays to have years of experience in judging which of Elle's directions I can safely ignore.

* * *

 **Four: Employment**

 ** _(Noah)_**

The logistical aspects of getting ready for Dinah are less overwhelming; those, I can make concrete plans to address.

Our living situation got figured out faster than I expected, both in terms of Elle's confidence about moving in together and Jen's apartment falling into our laps. Knowing where we'll be living, and getting to settle in already, eliminates one major source of uncertainty. There are probably a million things we need in order to get that apartment ready for a baby, but my mom would be only too happy to take on that project and I have no problem delegating it to her while we deal with the harder questions. She and Mickey are planning some kind of shower for Elle the weekend before we fly out to Lee's graduation, but I'm choosing to stay entirely ignorant of that craziness. I'll show up where I'm told, if requested.

My job search is another reassuringly concrete way of feeling like I'm doing _something_ to get ready. Natalie's bosses invited me back for a longer round of interviews two weeks after the first, and now I'm waiting to hear back. I'm also talking with a few other companies and firms I'd reached out to myself or via friends, and I placate Dad by meeting with some of his contacts. Joining Dad's firm remains the line I won't cross, but he's starting to understand that. Nothing's settled yet, but things are moving forward; it's satisfying to at least feel on top of _this_ item on our to-do list, even if it has been a hectic few weeks. Between visiting Elle and interviewing, it almost feels like I'm in LA more often than San Francisco, but it's not like my current job is getting any easier with end of year exams approaching. Elle is increasingly busy, too, writing term papers and gearing up for her last round of finals, and I doubt life will slow down for either of us until she's graduated and I've moved down for good. I'm crossing my fingers Dinah doesn't get any ideas about making an early appearance, because we are going to need every bit of that month between Elle's graduation and her due date to recover from this spring before everything gets _really_ crazy.

Elle actually lands a job before I do, which is a relief, because the idea of having nothing lined up after graduation clearly bothered her. Not that she'd be sitting idle, since obviously Dinah is going to be a job in herself at first, but I know that's not what Elle had envisioned for herself after college. She's been busting her ass in class and in the lab for years, so she's understandably uneasy about walking away from all that, even if only temporarily. It's Elle's advisor who comes through with an unexpectedly ideal proposal: she's swamped with research articles she needs to prepare for publication and she just got asked to co-author a textbook, and there's no way all of that will happen without some help. It wouldn't be anywhere close to full-time and the work could be done remotely at whatever odd hours Elle can spare while Dinah's asleep or when I'm home, but it would keep Elle in the thick of research and look good on her resume when she decides what she wants to do next.

So that's another item on our list I can tell myself we're making progress on.

* * *

 **And One Deferred**

 ** _(Noah)_**

There's one topic we're still avoiding, though, and it's the one my dad seems most intent on nagging about. His take on all of this turns out to be pretty simple: he's slowly admitting he's okay with the outcome, but not the way we got there. The two of us together and a baby on the way? That part he's happy about, at least now that he's gotten over the shock. But there was a right way to get there, according to Dad, and our path wasn't it. The solution, to him, is simple: get ourselves on that right track immediately. Move here, get a real job, and oh yeah, get married. Those first two I have no objections to, but the third puts me in the interesting position of arguing against something I absolutely want.

Yeah, I want to marry Elle. I've wanted to for a long time, no matter how much time I've also spent trying to convince myself to get over her. That last summer we spent together, before Mike's accident sent us reeling, was when I first admitted to myself I hoped to, someday. This October I realized that hadn't changed, and that I wanted that _someday_ sooner rather than later, having wasted two years already. And then this spring I discovered those feelings still hadn't dimmed despite five months of telling myself it was over, even if our situation had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated.

And that's the problem. That's why Dad's badgering has me arguing against what I most want. Because as much as I want to marry Elle, I don't want to marry her like this—because of a _situation_ , and an accidental one at that—and I suspect she feels the same way. If she's even feeling ready to think about marriage at all without panicking, which is its own separate issue and reason to take things slowly.

Dad's got a dozen reasons why we should. They're all pragmatic and logical and none of them are why I would want us to get married. To make the legal situation simpler. So my insurance will cover her. To make for an easier estate plan, because apparently that's a thing I'm going to need now. I'm also pretty sure Dad would prefer to refer to Elle as his daughter in law when he announces the news to friends, rather than his frustrating son's on-again, off-again girlfriend, but that's his hangup, not mine.

And maybe I'm too stubborn for my own good, but I've waited too long for this to do it for any of those reasons, or any reason other than because we _want_ to. It's not even been two months since I spotted Elle and learned the news, and right now I just want us to enjoy where we are and _breathe_ for a minute. So I tell Dad it's not up for discussion and I tell myself I'll think about it later. Hopefully not too much later, but not _this minute_. Because where we are right now is amazing but also overwhelming, full of promise and potential and terrifying unknowns, and we need a moment to adjust to it all. And it doesn't matter what we're labeling ourselves or our relationship as long as we agree our future is joint.

We've got a place that's ours, we're close to having jobs worked out, everyone finally knows, and we're slowly wrapping our heads around the idea of becoming parents in another two months. That's more than enough for now.

 ** _Overly Long Author's Note:_** ** _I needed a way to organize this chapter so it could provide a rapid overview of the five weeks following family lunch without feeling completely disjointed, and so I reached for Ye Olde 4 Times/One Time structure._** ** _Let's call it... "Four Pressing Concerns Addressed and One Deferred." It's not an entirely traditional application of 4+1, and maybe it didn't work so well, but... it got the chapter finished. Which means we can move on to the next phase of the story and everything I've got planned there, all of which I'm_ so _excited for._**

 ** _TIMELINE REFRESHER:_** a recent timeline recap, because Lord knows I'd be lost without my giant annotated calendar.

March 18, 2021: Lee visits Elle and finds out.

Saturday, March 27: Noah finds out.

Weekend of April 2-4: Elle visits Noah in San Francisco.

Weekend of April 9-11: Noah surprises Elle with a visit; lunch with June.

Weekend of April 16-18: Sonogram, Lee shows up, family lunch.

Weekend of April 23-25: Visiting and leasing apartment.

Weekend of April 30-May 2: First weekend in the apartment; run-in with Mia.

Weekend of May 7-9: Mother's Day.

We'll pick up again two weeks after Mother's Day.


	38. Utterly Ridiculous

_**(Elle)**_

Mickey has refused to tell me much about the baby shower she and June are organizing for the weekend before Lee's graduation, other than to reassure me that she's done her best to rein in June's more extravagant ideas. She does make me go shopping for a nice dress for the shower, and she insists the flowy blue silk dress we find looks great, although I don't really believe her.

"I look like a giant blueberry. Like the gum-chomping girl in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ who doesn't listen to Willie Wonka and swells up into an enormous blueberry." I whine to Mickey as I stare into the dressing room mirror, trying to make up my mind.

"For the last time, you look amazing. Do I need to send Noah a picture and make _him_ tell you that?"

"Yeah, like he's unbiased. He has to be nice to me because it's all his fault. And do I really need to dress up this much? You can't convince June to make this a leggings-and-tee-shirt kind of shindig?"

"I only just barely talked her out of tuxedoed waiters. Be glad this isn't black-tie and let June have her fun."

"I do love her, you know. She just scares me sometimes."

Mickey quirks an eyebrow at me. "You do realize this is just her practice run, right?"

"Her practice run? For the party-planning business she's clearly always dreamed of running?"

"For your wedding, Elle."

Ah, that. Not that there is a _that_ , nor do I wish to talk about the possibility of _that_ , so I wish she'd stop joking about it.

Mickey notices my grim expression and rolls her eyes. "Sorry. I forgot that was the forbidden subject."

"Whatever. And if you say I have to wear a dress, I guess this one's not the worst."

It really isn't so bad. It's my favorite shade of blue, the empire waist is making the most of my currently ridiculous bust, and I'll just try to ignore exactly how many yards of floaty cerulean blue silk are required for the skirt to drape loosely over my ever-expanding belly. I'm getting to the point where I look enormous no matter what I wear, even if Mickey swears that's not true, and, terrifyingly, that's with nearly two months to go.

* * *

The shower does not turn out nearly as over the top as Mickey had led me to dread, although that could just be evidence of her skill at moderating June. June hosts it at her house, and while I probably don't want to know how much those flowers or that cake cost, for the most part it feels like she's invited my friends and I over for a very elegant brunch.

Well, my friends and hers—there are several of June's and my mom's friends I hadn't seen in years, all eager to tell me how much I look like her and how thrilled she'd be. Which is... heartening but also hard to hear, especially over and over. It's not like there's ever been a day when I forget she's not here, but pregnancy has brought a new level of reckoning with her absence. Some things you're just meant to have your mom for, you know? But at least I have June.

Mickey notices me starting to look melancholy as yet another of Mom's friends tearily embraces me, and she sweeps me off to talk with some of our friends instead. Most of the guests our age are UCLA friends, but Mickey also invited the Boston and high school friends I recently reconnected with, and several of those living nearby have shown up. For the first time, all the phases of my life are represented in one place, laughing and trading embarrassing stories about me, and it's nice to finally feel like my life has been one winding journey and not a collection of disjointed stages.

The best surprise, though, is Rachel, who flew all the way from New York to be here. I'm sure being in this house again is all kinds of weird for her, but seeing her is amazing and we escape to a quiet balcony with mimosas—well, a mimosa for her, seltzer and OJ for me—and a plate of pastries to catch up. She's got news to share, too—she's just gotten engaged.

"How did we get so old? Seriously, look at us," I tell Rachel as we sprawl on lounge chairs and enjoy the Flynns' ridiculous view. "I'm going to be someone's mom soon and you're getting married."

"Well, I won't actually be married for a while—we're going to wait for next summer. You'll probably beat me to it."

"Oh God, Rachel, not you too. There are no wedding plans. There do not need to be wedding plans. The having-a-baby plans are quite enough."

"Sore subject?" Rachel asks apologetically.

"Annoying subject. It's like people lose their minds when they see the belly and no ring."

"Sorry. Although, for the record, the baby isn't why I said that. You two have been headed this way a long time. Lee must be relieved."

"Lee? Lee's getting used to us again, but I'm not sure 'relieved' is the right word."

"Elle, Lee realized about halfway through senior year you two were meant for each other. He was just worried you wouldn't manage to grow up fast enough to avoid splitting up for some stupid reason."

"Funny how Lee never shared that particular insight with me back then. And I guess we proved his fears right."

Rachel knows most of the story, and I caught her up on October and its aftermath when I called to tell her I was pregnant.

"Yeah, but things are good _now_ , right? Anyway, I won't joke about wedding bells; I should have guessed you're hearing enough of that already. I'm just so thrilled you two are back together."

"I'm thrilled for _you_ , too, and I've really got to meet this Brian one day. Does... Lee know? Can I tell him?"

"He doesn't, but sure. We haven't talked in a while, beyond birthday texts."

"He'll be glad to hear. Although, probably also terrified that yet another person his age is getting married. Lee's not quite ready to admit we're growing up."

"I can see that," Rachel replies with a grin. I'm glad it's not awkward anymore.

"June teased him about this baby needing a cousin soon and he practically had a heart attack. It was awesome."

"Lee with a baby... now there's a terrifying thought. But he's going to rock the uncle thing."

" _He_ definitely thinks so. And it's his new excuse for meddling—for his niece's sake, you see."

"Maybe I'll call him for his birthday this year. It would be nice to catch up."

"He'd like that. And thanks for flying out here for the shower. Having everybody here has been amazing. I know this is going to sound dumb, but it took me a while for me to believe people were actually happy for us."

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"Because we... didn't go about this the right way. I mean, it's pretty obvious this was accidental. And then I screwed it up even more by freaking out and shutting Noah out for so long. Well, I guess not everyone knows that part. But still. I guess I just felt kind of... embarrassed."

"Yeah, that does sound really dumb." Rachel laughs. "Let's go back in so you can see again how little anybody cares about any of that."

* * *

June informed Noah that he was to make an appearance near the end of the shower, and he dutifully shows up in time to help me open the mountain of gifts and to listen politely as the older women insist on imparting their childrearing wisdom. I'd be more confident in their advice if they didn't keep contradicting each other. The baby should sleep in its own room from day one, but also sleep in our room for at least the first three months. Pacifiers are terrible but also absolutely necessary. Feed the baby on demand but also on a strict schedule. At least they're no longer telling me their labor horror stories now that Noah is here too.

As much as I enjoyed seeing everyone, it's a relief once the last guest has left and June shoos me and Noah out of the house, saying she and Mickey can handle the cleanup. Well, she and Mickey and the half dozen catering staff. I'd promised to attend a classmate's gallery opening this evening, and afterward Noah and I linger over a late dinner. I've talked to more people today than in the last month combined, I'm pretty sure, so I'm happy to let Noah do most of the talking. We're downtown at one of our old favorite restaurants, seated upstairs by the windows, and after a while I realize why traffic in the street has slowed to a crawl and why we keep hearing gleeful teenage shrieks and whoops.

"Look," I tell Noah, tipping my head at the window. "You see all those limos? And that guy on the steps with the clipboard?"

Noah peers down at the street, and he figures it out too.

"Is that Mr. Morin?"

"Sure looks like it. I didn't realize they'd moved prom earlier."

There, across the street, stands our favorite former principal, looking harried as students in formal dress stream past him into what must be this year's LA Country Day prom.

"Damn. Those kids were, what, sixth graders when we were there?" Noah asks.

"Probably."

"God, that feels like a lifetime ago."

And maybe it does to him, but the memories currently flooding my mind feel pretty fresh. Fresh and still a little painful. You wouldn't think senior prom could have gone worse than junior year, but it turns out that breaking up the day before prom makes for an even more painful experience. Lee convinced me to go anyway—he was nursing his own broken heart, the breakup with Rachel still being recent—and promised we'd have fun dancing and making fun of everyone else, but it was hard to think about anything that night other than how furious I was at Noah.

Speaking of, I guess he's noticed my change in mood because he reaches for my hand.

"Would now be a good time for me to apologize yet again for being an ass about you turning down Stanford?"

I give him a wry smile. "We both overreacted. But yes. Now would be a good time."

The waitress arrives with our desserts—to be more accurate, my dessert and the one I made Noah order because I didn't want to admit I was ordering two desserts—and the interruption distracts us from our disastrous prom memories. I'm still watching the kids pile out of their limos and pose on the steps, but now I'm wondering what dramas and heartbreaks are simmering unseen.

After a minute I notice the devilish grin with which Noah is watching me watch the scene below.

"You know, I was thinking, you're still in that pretty dress, I've still got this suit on..."

He cannot be serious.

"Please tell me you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"Why not? We never did get that dance." His eyes have that twinkle and he's giving me that smile and yeah, the absolute lunatic _is_ serious.

"Our prom record is abysmal. I don't think we should risk it, if only for Dinah's sake."

"You don't think we've gotten a little wiser? This is our chance to improve that record."

God help me, I'm actually considering it. It's that stupid irresistible grin he gets when he's talking me into a truly ridiculous scheme and apparently seven years haven't been enough for me to build up any resistance to it.

"There is no way we can sneak in undetected. You don't think every one of those former middle schoolers knew who you were? Not to mention Mr. Morin."

"Oh, we're not going to sneak in. We're doing this right."

And that's how a short while later I find myself walking up the steps straight to my former principal. Noah convinced our waitress to let us swipe the flowers from our table, because of course he did, so now I've improvised a wrist corsage using hair elastics and my bracelet, and I've made Noah pin the last of the flowers at his lapel using a safety pin I found in my purse. If we're going to crash prom, we might as well do it in style. I wish I could blame this folly on alcohol but, alas, we're both dead sober.

Principal Morin spots us and I watch his eyebrows climb ever higher as we approach.

"Mr. Flynn, Miss Evans. You seem to be confused what year it is. And I see congratulations are in order."

"See, that's the thing. We've been going over our bucket list ahead of this baby arriving, and we realized we never managed to check off attending prom together." I'm blushing madly as I say it but we may as well go for it. "So we were hoping you'd let us fix that. You know, for the baby's sake." I give him my best pleading look. "Just twenty minutes and then we'll disappear."

"I recall trouble having a way of following you two around."

"Oh, we've reformed. Promise." I assure him. It's... not a total lie?

"I'm teaching high school now. You know, due to your inspiring example." Noah manages an impressively straight face as he says it. "So I'm actually _very_ experienced at preventing teens from having any fun at parties. Think of us as... extra chaperones."

"And I promise to snitch on anyone I see with a flask. If _I_ can't drink, they can't either. Plus, think how terrifying this belly is going to be. Best contraceptive scare tactic ever."

Mr. Morin sighs wearily, then rolls his eyes in resignation. "Very well. Twenty minutes. But any shenanigans, any hint of a smoke bomb or a fight, and you're out of here immediately."

"I told you, we're totally reformed now. Complete and utter killjoys."

"I'll believe that when I see it. But go ahead. Consider it my baby present. And just to be clear... you are to _socialize_ only with each other."

"Not a problem." Noah grins.

Thankfully, this year's prom committee seems to have gone for a dimly-lit ambiance, and we manage to escape notice as we walk in. I spot an alcove off to a side of the dance floor and we sit there a minute, just laughing at each other.

"So, phase one successful. We are both present at prom, together, and we are on speaking terms. Do we dare have a dance, or would that just be pushing our luck?" Noah asks.

"Maybe let's wait for slightly less frenetic music."

"I bet I can do something about that." Noah is up and out of the alcove before I can protest, walking straight to the DJ and leaning in to be heard. And while we'd managed to escape detection on our way in, he's definitely been recognized now, and curious eyes eagerly follow him as he makes his way back to the alcove and extends a hand to me. I'm wondering what in the world he requested from the DJ. And then the song starts up and I stop and glare at him, my hands at my hips.

"Really? _This_? _This_ is what you specially requested? I thought the goal was for us to get through prom _without_ a fight."

My sophomore year roommate at BU loved this song. Loved this song so much she listened to it _constantly_. I'm not actually sure she owned any other music. Just _this song_. On loop. And Noah absolutely knows this, because he heard me complain about it practically every day.

"Hey, hear me out. I know Kara drove you nuts with this song. But that's the point. I heard this in the background every time I called. It was like the soundtrack for that whole year. And then I spent three years avoiding this song. I even had to boycott Starbucks for a few months when they had it on their playlist. But recently, well, now I like hearing it again."

And he has a point. Because I don't only think of Kara every time I hear this song; I think of her for a split second, and then I think of Noah and Boston and being nineteen and so damn happy. "Fine," I mutter, letting him pull me closer.

We must look absolutely comical, and not just because we're way too old to be here. I changed into flats as soon as the shower was over, unable to bear the cute heels Mickey made me buy for one minute longer, so Noah is towering over me more than usual, and there's a whole lot of belly getting in the way. And I'm pretty sure I just heard my brother's name, so now the teens have recognized me too. But to hell with it, we're here and we're happy, so I'm not going to worry about how absurd this whole scheme is. I find a way to lean my head against Noah, and I'm hardly even pretending to dance, just going for classic middle-school-formal slow-song swaying.

"So, we finally got our dance at prom. Is it everything you hoped for?"

"Yes, this was definitely _exactly_ how I always pictured it. Especially the hugely pregnant part." I laugh.

"You're not huge, Shell."

"There are teenagers whispering and pointing at me in terror."

"That's because they're terrified I'll notice that they're talking about how hot you are. I have a reputation."

"You _had_ a reputation, past tense. You've reformed, remember?"

"But they don't need to know that."

I snuggle in closer and just enjoy this utterly ridiculous moment.

The thing is, this actually _is_ how I always pictured it. Not... the being pregnant and crashing prom as dorky old alums part. But being in Noah's arms, feeling like this? Yeah. I think back to Rachel's comment, that Lee worried we'd screw this up before getting mature enough to do this right. And he was right, but thank God for second chances.


	39. Familiar Views

_**(Noah)**_

As busy as we all are with the last few weeks of classes and final exams looming, my friends and I have been dawdling at the lunch table, realizing how few of these times we have left together. I'm not the only one leaving, and our gang will scatter soon.

As usual, Gwen is pestering me for updates on Elle, eager to hear about my weekend and our plans for the dwindling number of weeks before Dinah shows up. The guys are less driven to gossip; they just like any opportunity to give me a hard time.

"Are we _ever_ going to see Elle again? If you weren't hiding her from us I wouldn't have to bug you for updates so often." Gwen finally asks in frustration.

"I'm not hiding her. We've been busy. In LA."

"You mean you're not hiding her _anymore_. And I still don't get why you kept all this top-secret for so long." Neil complains.

"I didn't."

Adam shoots me a curious look but says nothing.

"What?" Neil looks confused.

"We weren't actually together most of this year. Or even speaking. We reunited briefly, things blew up, we ignored each other until the baby made us get some sense. And even that took a while." I'm sick of lying, and I don't think Elle will mind my friends knowing. We've both gotten more comfortable being upfront about this year. It's one thing not to share every detail with folks we hadn't talked to in ages, like the high school crowd, but these guys see me every day and I'm done pretending they just never noticed what was going on.

"Wait, what?" Parker looks as floored as Neil, but Gwen's expression is more intrigued than surprised.

"Look, I'm sorry we didn't tell the whole truth initially. Things were still really recent and weird and we didn't feel like getting into it. But no, I didn't actually keep anything secret other than having seen Elle last fall. You guys found out the rest not long after I did."

Gwen turns to Parker, palm extended and smiling smugly. "Pay up. I told you that story was crap."

Parker rolls his eyes but withdraws a twenty from his wallet and hands it over as Gwen turns her triumphant look to me.

"These guys may be unobservant enough to have bought it, but you've been an entirely new person this spring. And you were pretty damn unpleasant all winter. No way you'd been secretly and happily seeing Elle since summer. But your coconspirator Adam here deserves an award; I've been trying to get the truth from him for weeks and he hasn't blinked."

"You're welcome," Adam tells me. "But if you're into total honesty today, does that mean I can tell them about your Saturday night?"

"I don't know, _can_ you?" _I_ haven't told him anything.

"But it's such a _romantic_ story. I wouldn't want anyone to miss out." Adam bats his eyes at me.

I should have guessed that the reason Adam isn't bugging me about my weekends anymore is that he's getting his updates straight from Elle.

"Go ahead. You've clearly been itching to share this gossip for days."

"Our sentimental friend here crashed his high school's prom so he could finally make up for never taking Elle. And if you're thinking you need to see this to believe it, good news, I have photographic evidence."

Adam's phone gets passed around, much mockery ensues, and I really don't mind at all.

"Yeah, like I said. Having now witnessed you under the influence of Elle, zero percent chance I'd believe you were together all year long. Although I wish you _had_ been, because you're a lot more fun when you're happy." Gwen laughs at me. She has a point.

"Well, you can tell her that yourself in two weeks. Despite your belief that I am hiding her from you all, she's coming up here the weekend after next."

"Which means farewell party and drunken baby shower Saturday night at my place. Elle and I already planned this." Adam adds. Of course they did.

"Why can't we see her _this_ weekend? More interviews in LA?" Gwen asks.

"Nope. My brother's graduation, in Boston." I'm also hoping there won't be need for more interviews, but I'll update them on that once things are official.

"And then? When do you actually move?"

"Elle graduates the day after classes end here, and she and Lee are having their birthday party that weekend, so unless I manage to get everything packed early I'll fly back after that for a few days to wrap things up here."

Which means in three weeks I'll be out of here. The last weeks of the school year have always been hectic, whether on the student side or the teacher side, but this time I can't tell myself there'll be a lazy summer afterward. We're doing what we can to get ready, and the rest we'll figure out along the way, but in the meantime I'm going to make the most of these moments before everything gets really crazy.

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

Despite Dr. Kim having okayed me flying to Boston this far along, Noah has become exactly as overprotective and overcautious as Lee predicted, and initially he insists he'll fly to LA so he can then fly to Boston with me, but I manage to move him off that plan by pointing out I can fly with June. Which is why she and I are now settling in for the six hour flight in neighboring seats in first class, a concession I made at both of their insistence. And on this point I'm willing to let them be extravagant, because the idea of squeezing myself into an economy seat for that long right now is entirely unappealing. I've had to reconcile myself to a lot of Flynn extravagances on my behalf lately, not least of which the fact that rent on our apartment is being paid from the trust fund I'd tried to ignore for so long, and that my contribution to our expenses is going to be more symbolic than anything else.

The money thing has always been a little awkward. It's not like my parents were struggling, but sometimes the gap between _comfortably well-off_ and _grandad founded the third-largest semiconductor chip manufacturer_ was hard to ignore. Most notably when it came to college decisions, but that's a fight we're done rehashing. Generally, though, I've grown to accept that I can't keep Noah, or Lee for that matter, from spending his money the way he wants to, even when that means spending it on me. I mean, when the options were _not see Noah until Christmas_ or _let Noah buy an absurd number of cross-country plane tickets_ , at some point my pride had to give way. At least these days I can tell myself it's for Dinah, and there's really no way to object to that. And, obviously, it'd be ridiculous to complain about not having to worry about money on top of all the stuff we _do_ need to worry about. It's just... weird. But it is what it is, and I'll just have to get over the weirdness.

I have a stack of lecture notes I should be studying for my last final next week, not to mention a term paper to edit, but I let myself put those off so I can enjoy being with June. Between organizing the baby shower and taking over nursery set-up, June's been single-handedly ensuring Dinah won't show up to completely unprepared parents. Well, at least not _materially_ unprepared. For once, though, she and I are talking about something other than the baby, laughing over pictures Lee sent of a finals-week hack of MIT's Great Dome that he absolutely positively denies any involvement in.

The flight attendants have been doting on me, and one stops by as June and I are chatting to ask if I'd like another of the freshly-baked cookies they'd served shortly after takeoff. When I sheepishly admit yes, she puts three on a plate.

"One for you, one for the baby, and one for your mom." She tells me with a wink.

I stammer a bit as I thank her, but I don't really have the heart to correct her. It's not the first time June and I have been assumed to be mother and daughter, and it's always a little awkward. June says nothing while the flight attendant is still within earshot, then squeezes my hand.

"I take it as the highest compliment every time, even if I feel guilty getting Joni's credit." June says wistfully.

Some of the credit is rightfully hers at this point, but it seems weird to actually admit that, and June goes on before I can figure out how to reply.

"You know, if she were here, I'd owe her a big _I told you so_." June laughs.

"Why?"

"She never quite believed me about you and Noah."

June likes to remind us she predicted this long before we had a clue. That she'd watched Noah watch me, watched him pretend to ignore me and Lee while never missing a word I said. Watched _me_ goad Noah into arguments every chance I got. But she'd never mentioned my mom's thoughts on the possibility.

"You don't think Mom would have wanted this?"

"Sweetie, no, that's not what I meant at all. But she thought I was reading way too much into a few shy glances, and that if it _was_ anything, it was just a crush you'd both get over long before realizing it was mutual. But she wasn't at my house seeing everything I saw, and then she didn't get the chance to see it evolve. But she would have been thrilled to be proven wrong."

"You think? Because Dad took some convincing."

"Yes, well, I'll be the first to admit Noah didn't have the smartest ways of ignoring his feelings for you. Teenagers aren't the most reasonable creatures, but I'll let you both discover that in thirteen years. Anyway, I meant she'd be thrilled now."

"Even with the mess we made this year?"

"She'd be thrilled _now_. The rest is details. And anyway, it doesn't matter what she or I thought back then. Regardless of whether anyone would have predicted this, you two seem to be set on each other, even after the last few years' inexplicable efforts not to be."

June turns back to the pictures she'd been scrolling through and I figure she's moved on, but then I hear her mutter "But I _did_ absolutely tell her so."

* * *

June and I split up into separate cabs once we land in Boston. She and Matthew—he'll be flying in separately, directly from some business trip—are staying downtown, while Noah wanted to stay in Cambridge, closer to Lee and to Harvard. Noah had to teach this morning, so he'll arrive late tonight, giving me and Lee an evening to ourselves.

Everything feels so familiar, looks so much the same, and it's tempting to let myself believe I've just come back from a short trip home and that I haven't been gone for almost three years. I drop my bags at the hotel and decide to walk to Lee's apartment. Some of the storefronts have changed, but for the most part the walk is just as I remember it, and I find I don't have to check the map once to navigate myself from Harvard to MIT. The walk does, however, take a lot longer than it did when I wasn't nearly eight months pregnant, and it's a little trippy to remember that detail every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a store window. Everything around me may look the same, but _I_ don't. But it's fun to pretend for just a minute that the clock has turned three years back.

I'm glad to find a bench outside Lee's building, and I collapse there with relief after sending him a text to let him know I've arrived. Lee emerges from the building within minutes, and his eyes widen when I stand up and he gets the full view of my ever more ridiculous belly. I should tell Mickey to copy him on those picture updates she's still un-secretly sending Noah, so at least Lee's not shocked every time he sees me for the first time in a month.

"Don't say it," I warn him.

"It's just—oh, come on. How can I not say it?"

I roll my eyes. "Fine. Go ahead. Tell me how enormous I am."

"I mean, it's not like you're huge in a _bad_ way. But holy crap, how can you still have almost two months to go?"

"Thank you. You wouldn't believe how infrequently people tell me that and how much I love hearing it every time."

"Did you seriously walk all the way here?"

"Yes, Lee, I'm not an invalid." Although I'm not going to admit to him how long it took, and that I fully intend to take the T or the bus back. "And, ew, why are you so gross and sweaty?"

"I've been packing all day and my landlord still hasn't switched the AC on for the summer."

"Well, it _is_ Boston. It was probably still snowing two weeks ago."

"Close. No May flurries this year, but only just barely. Come on, come hang out while I get cleaned up."

Lee's apartment is a crazy, half-packed mess, and I have to shove piles of laundry aside to make room to sit on his bed while he goes to shower. I may not have been in this particular apartment before, but I recognize enough of Lee's stuff from his earlier dorm rooms to feel right at home. Mickey's online, and she and I end up chatting so I can rate the outfits she's considering for her department's senior awards dinner tonight. I don't even notice Lee has wandered back in from the shower until Mickey wolf whistles and I realize a towel-clad Lee just walked behind me, right past my phone camera.

"Elle, did you forget to mention you were FaceTiming?" an exasperated Lee asks.

"It's just Mickey. Don't worry, she's already got a hot boyfriend; she's not going to stalk you."

"I don't know, tell Lee to walk by again, and more slowly this time." Mickey jokes.

"I'm really not comfortable being broadcast without warning." Lee complains.

"So put some clothes on."

"That's what I was trying to do, and _it's_ _my room_."

"I'm here." I point out.

"You don't count. You know that."

"Tell Lee I'm turning off the video and will do my best to wipe this incident from memory." Mickey laughs.

But Lee has already stalked off to dress in the bathroom, and by the time he returns I'm off the call.

"Is it safe, or am I being live streamed again? Because if so I demand half of the ad revenue."

"Don't flatter yourself. And if I can survive walking in on you and Rachel, Mickey can survive this."

"Thanks for reminding me. It had _almost_ slipped my mind that ever happened, so I'm glad you've refreshed my memory." Lee groans.

"You're welcome. Speaking of Rachel—okay, that's an unfortunate transition. Maybe, ah, let's talk about other stuff for a while and then I'll bring up Rachel not immediately after that memory."

"Too late now, so go ahead with whatever you were going to say. I already heard she was at the baby shower."

"Yeah, she's living in New York now but she made it to the shower anyway; it was great seeing her. And she had some news, too. I told you she met a guy during her semester abroad, right?"

"Yeah. Ryan or something."

"Brian. Well, uh, they're still together and they just got engaged." I'm suddenly wondering if Lee even wants to know. But I think he does. It's been forever and several girlfriends ago, and he usually likes it when I give him Rachel updates.

"Oh." I can't read his expression at first, but eventually it resolves into an awkward smile.

"Should I... not have told you?"

"No, I'm glad you did. Just a little surprised. It's weird to think about Rachel getting married. Mostly because we're still, like, eighteen in my head. I mean, I know we're not, but we were the last time I saw her."

"She seems really happy."

"I'm glad. Have you met him?"

"No, but she said they might visit LA later this summer." There's an awkward pause. "Are you sure you want to talk about this?"

"Elle, it's okay, I'm not hung up on Rachel. We don't all meet our soulmates in high school. Or, ugh, the day you were born and once again, I will never understand how this doesn't feel incestuous to you two, but whatever, I've moved on."

I'm not sure it counts as "meeting" if neither of us has any memory of it, but yes, there is a picture from the hospital of a _very_ unenthused-looking Noah sitting on June's lap as my mom holds me and Lee.

"Yes, I can really tell you've moved on, given your near-daily harping on it. Anyway, that's really all the updates I had about Rachel, I just thought you'd want to know. And I figured it would be weirder telling you at dinner, with Jenna there."

"Jenna knows about Rachel, and it wouldn't be weird. Again, you forget it's not actually normal for high school romances to turn out to be The One. The rest of us are okay knowing the people we're dating have dated other people."

"Uh, if I weren't okay with that Noah would be in serious trouble."

"I said _dated_ other people, not _hooked up with_."

"He dated someone in San Francisco. I met her."

"Dated her until he realized he was still in love with you. Doesn't count."

"Whatever. Fine. I'm not sure what your point is."

"My point is that Rachel wasn't _the one_ and that's okay."

"And Jenna? Is she the one?"

"No, _Mom_ , there are no wedding plans. I'm twenty-two. Well, for another week at least, and twenty-three isn't exactly ancient either."

"Ha. You'd be surprised how not at all too early to get married twenty-two is according to so many people I've talked to recently."

"More annoying comments?"

"You know it. I've started telling people the father is in jail. That seems to curtail the marriage questions."

"Noah will be thrilled to hear that."

* * *

I'd planned on walking all around our favorite MIT haunts tonight, but I'm so tired after dinner with Jenna that Lee and I end up just cabbing it back to my hotel room, waiting for Noah's arrival. We do at least stop at Tosci's for pints of ice cream, and I can't help but think about how long it's been since we did this. Lee and I, camped out at opposite ends of a sofa, watching terrible TV and arguing about who's monopolizing the ice cream. (Lee. It's always Lee. I love my desserts, but that boy has an ice cream problem even I can't compete with.) I used to grumble at Noah about how often the football team stole his weekends for away games and other nonsense, but truth be told, I liked having those Lee nights too.

"I missed this," I comment to Lee. "Are you sure you don't want to move back to LA?" I'm only half joking.

"Did my mom put you up to asking that? She's been nagging me about it."

"No, _I_ put me up to it. Because I miss you."

"Ah, but greener pastures call. And I literally mean greener pastures, because all that rain in Seattle makes for much happier plants and fewer wildfires."

"That and the stack of greenbacks Microsoft offered you?"

"Also that," Lee laughs.

"Fine. I guess it's at least a shorter flight than Boston. You know you're going to need to visit all the time, right? Otherwise I'm telling Dinah her Uncle Lee is a deadbeat."

"Uncle Lee is no deadbeat. I'll be there so often Noah's head will explode."

I go back to watching the television, but after a minute Lee speaks up again.

"I don't know if I should tell you this. I don't want you to take it the wrong way, or get mad."

"Either tell me or don't, but don't be cryptic."

"I did have a job offer in LA, and not a bad one either. But in the end I thought it would be better if I... gave you guys some space."

"What? But it would have been awesome, the three of us back together."

"Elle, the three of us—that was college. And you two are going to have a lot on your plates, and now isn't the time for me to be in the way."

"You wouldn't be in the way. You've never been in the way. And I promised way, way back that I'd never ditch you for Noah."

"Yeah, but now you should." Lee's smile is a little sad. "I mean, not actually ditch me. But this needs to be... your time. Just the two of you. So consider yourself released from that promise."

I stare down at the nearly-empty ice cream carton, unsure what to say.

"Look, Elle, it's far from the only reason I picked Seattle over LA. But you and I, we've had several thousand miles between us for years now and that hasn't made us any less close, right? I love you, and I always will. But the last thing you and my idiot brother need right now is a third wheel. So I'm going to go off and do my own thing, and let you two figure all the rest of this out."

What he's saying makes sense, even if it's painful to admit. Forever ago, even before Noah, I'd told myself that Lee would always come first, that a best friend should always trump a boyfriend. But even if I'm not interested in discussing formal changes to our status right now, I have to admit Noah stopped being _just_ a boyfriend a long time ago, if he even ever was. And yeah, I guess at some point Lee became the third wheel, and maybe I shouldn't feel so guilty accepting that. Lee has, clearly. So finally I just scoot close enough to lean my head on his shoulder, and squeeze his hand in gratitude.

"You still have to come visit all the time, though." I add after a long moment.

"Well, you know how much I hate to hop on planes on a whim."

"Yeah, you and your brother. It's on my short list of evidence you're related."

"We're not," that brother interjects from the doorway, dropping his luggage. "I finally got Mom to admit Lee was left on our doorstep by vagrants."

"Well that's a goddamned relief to find out," Lee laughs as he gets up from the couch. "And you showing up is my cue to disappear before the grossness starts. We're on for breakfast tomorrow, right?"

"Eight o'clock at Flour in Central. Be on time or risk my having eaten _all_ the sticky buns," I warn Lee as he leaves, slugging Noah's shoulder in greeting on his way out the door.

Noah looks irresistibly rumpled from his travels, but he fends off my _purely unselfish_ attempts to help him out of those rumpled clothes.

"Dinner, Shelly. I know you've been eating your way through Cambridge, based on the eight hundred messages awaiting when I landed, but I still haven't had dinner." I notice then that he'd set down a take-out bag when he'd dropped his luggage.

"You don't need clothes on to eat."

"On the balcony I do, and we're going to sit on this balcony."

I hadn't even noticed the room _had_ a balcony, but once I follow Noah through the sliding door I realize why he'd insisted on this hotel, and why the desk staff at check-in had told me it was the view we'd requested. We're on the highest floor, and from the balcony I can see clear across Cambridge to the Charles and Boston beyond it.

"I figured rather than risk being arrested by campus police for trespassing, not to mention your current condition, I'd get us a legit rooftop view."

"But campus police has surely missed us."

It wouldn't be the first time Harvard campus police has caught us sneaking around. It started with discovering an accidentally-unlocked storage room leading to stairs to the roof of Noah's freshman dorm, and after that we made it our goal to sneak onto the roof, or close to it, of as many campus buildings we could; we had managed to check off all but one of the dorms by the time I left. Not that we _did_ anything on those roof tops, it was just nice to be up there alone, talking and staring out at the city around us.

I lean against the railing, staring out at the view, as Noah tears into his dinner.

"Is that from that disgusting sub shop you loved so much?"

"Eddie's isn't disgusting, but yes."

"I'm pretty sure the only reason you loved it was that you knew I'd never steal any of it."

"That was certainly _one_ of the reasons. And I'm impressed that even in your current hunger monster mode you're still turning your nose up at Eddie's."

I ignore his teasing and focus again on trying to pick out once-familiar landmarks in the distance. From the edge of the balcony I can face southeast enough to make out part of MIT campus and then BU just across the Charles. It always amused me that Lee and I could practically wave at each other from our dorms on either side of the river, even if actually getting from one campus to the other was a decent trek. Well, a decent trek by local standards. After growing up in LA, I could never get over the tininess of Boston, and that I could easily walk from one end to the other if I felt like it. Which I did, often; Noah and Lee both learned to check the actual distance on the map before believing me when I insisted some place was just a quick walk away.

"Would you want to come back?" Noah's voice interrupts my reminiscing.

"Maybe, but soon we won't have anyone left to visit. And we've done all the touristy stuff already."

"No, I meant _live_ here again. For grad school, or even after."

"Oh. I don't know, honestly. I mean, I loved being a student here, but I have no idea what actually living here would be like. Especially with a kid. Would _you_ want to? I thought you hated the endless winters and the East Coast's pathetic excuse for an ocean."

Noah laughs. "It's not my dream city, no. But you sounded pretty thrilled to be back here in all those messages you sent today, and you're looking rather wistful as you stare at the city now."

"It _is_ amazing being back. But amazing in that nostalgic way. I walked from here to Lee's this afternoon and all these memories I'd forgotten I even had came flooding back every time I passed some old familiar landmark. And I can't wait to go see my BU friends and wander around campus. But I can't say that it feels like coming home. Just—revisiting some really great memories."

Noah's done eating and joins me at the balcony railing, resting his chin on my head as he wraps his arms around me.

"What was that one dorm we never got on the roof of? Winters?" I ask him.

"Winthrop."

"Did _you_ ever?"

"No. The midnight trespass thing wasn't any fun without you. Besides, I didn't know anyone else small enough to lift through windows so you could go figure out where the roof access was."

"Anyone small enough and insane enough."

"That too," Noah agrees with a laugh.

"We can put it on the list for your five-year reunion. Dinah will be the perfect size for boosting through windows."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't sound serious when you proposed that bit of child endangerment. Besides, she'll probably be taller than you already."

I may have jabbed my elbow back into Noah's side more firmly than intended, judging from his groan. But he earned it.

We eventually stretch out on one of the deck chairs together, staring up at the night. There aren't many stars visible with all the city lights, but with the room lights off the balcony is dark enough to feel like we're hiding away on a rooftop again. I debate whether to tell Noah about Lee turning down that job offer in LA, and decide not to. Maybe he already knows, and if he doesn't, it's Lee's story to tell. As sad as I am Lee won't be moving home, he's right. We've all got new chapters to write, and we all need breathing room.

Noah is playing his usual game of tag with Dinah, and I've given up trying to stop him as long as he doesn't do it while I'm trying to sleep. In the meantime, I've been trying to remember our last rooftop excursion, and I realize it must have been my last night in Cambridge; I wonder if that's why Noah was so set on sitting out here tonight. For years I've pushed away memories of those last idyllic days before everything went wrong. Now, though, with Dad safely recovered, with my degree almost in hand, and with Noah back by my side, I don't mind remembering those days. But no matter how perfect things seemed then, now is even better.


	40. Graduation Debates

_**(Noah)**_

I should go for a run. I _want_ to go for a run, to follow familiar paths around campus and across the bridge to the football stadium. And if Elle were awake, she'd claim I'll be insufferable if I don't get my run in. But Elle isn't awake, she's still asleep and warm in my arms, and that's why getting up holds no appeal. I'll catch hell if I wake her this early, and I don't dare move and disrupt the careful arrangement of pillows she now requires to sleep comfortably, so I just watch her sleep. It's not a bad way to start a day.

Mark, head of the math department and my mentor these last two years, took me to lunch last week. We'd meant to discuss the job offers I'm weighing, but instead talked mostly about Elle and the impending arrival. Which has been happening a lot; people seem driven to share their wisdom and warnings about babies. Most of it is starting to blend together, but Mark did have one comment that stuck with me. He'd asked if it felt real yet, and said it wasn't until his wife had been far enough along with their first for Mark to feel him kick that it had truly hit him what was about to happen. I laughed and said we were well past that, but I didn't go into detail.

The thing is, there were no hazy early days of knowing Elle was pregnant but not having it feel real yet. I woke up one day thinking the hardest part of my day would be trying to avoid Elle on UCLA campus, and I went to sleep that night with the sensation of kicks burned into my hand. And in between, a heart-pounding hour spent trying to understand what I'd just seen and what it meant. For me. For us. The us that I'd told myself was over and that suddenly probably couldn't ever be over if I was right about what I'd seen. And then finally hitting _send_ and everything that came after.

Not that I would have _wanted_ it to be over. And that's the basic truth I kept circling back to in those first confusing days. Questions that would have been impossible to answer a week earlier became simple once the alternative became _not being with Elle_. Did I want to have a kid right now? Did I want to leave San Francisco? Change jobs? Who knows what I would have answered before, because now all those questions boiled down to _Did I want to be with Elle?_ And I did. I'd spent two years trying to convince myself I was over her, five months telling myself she was never going to let this work, and then suddenly there she was in front of me and the one thing I knew was that we weren't over, hadn't ever been over, didn't want to be over. So all those other questions—irrelevant. Because I wanted to be with Elle. But it wasn't just Elle I wanted, even if that would have been reason enough. As unplanned as this baby was, as completely unforeseen, the instant Elle pressed my palm to her belly and I realized what I was feeling, I knew I wanted this. Sure, I was terrified and confused and still more than a little furious—but I could be all of those things _and_ strangely, undeniably thrilled. So I get what Mark meant about that first kick making it all real, and I guess it was the same for me. It was just... more dramatic of a transition in my case. Zero to sixty, buckle up and hold on.

Adam's first question, when he'd found out, had been whether I was happy about this. He'd sounded hesitant, like just asking might offend, but it was a fair question. A fair question with an easy answer: yes. How to make it all work was the hard question, but the alternative, not being with Elle, was an option I was no longer going to pretend to have any interest in. And so we had no choice but to figure our shit out, as Lee so eloquently ordered us. Which I'd like to think we have. We're not done, probably won't ever be, but there's a lot of clarity that comes with ruling out any option besides being together.

We fought a few weeks ago, about some ridiculous disagreement the details of which I've already forgotten. It turns out we still can't help but escalate and dig in our heels in the heat of the moment. But what _has_ changed is the length of that moment. So five minutes after Elle hung up, she called me back to say she still thought I was being unreasonable, but that if it really bothered me she wouldn't, except by then I'd accepted it wasn't my decision to make. And then that was just... it. We didn't keep arguing about who'd been right, we didn't stay mad at the other for having overreacted, we just moved on. And maybe I still thought she was being rash, and maybe she still thought I was being overbearing, but was staying mad going to help? No, so I was over it.

We've finally had a few quiet weekends to ourselves, and I hadn't expected how much having our own place would matter. That first time I'd gone straight to our apartment from the airport, opening the door and seeing Elle curled up on the couch, fallen asleep waiting for me... This was home. I wasn't visiting Elle, or Elle visiting me; we were home, just the two of us, together. If I hadn't already, long ago, figured out what I wanted, it would have been impossible to deny after that moment—but I didn't need the reminder. Elle's seemed increasingly fearless about the future and about us, too. She's made casual references to far-off possibilities, to what _we_ might be doing by then, and she's finally dropped her guilt about the changes I'm making for her. For us, more accurately, and maybe that's what she's finally understanding. It's a relief, and it's got me reconsidering the timelines I'd imagined for the next steps.

I've been going back and forth on that question increasingly often, and especially this week. Rationally I know it's still too soon, but going back to Boston together feels meaningful, symbolic, and I've done some contingency planning, just in case. To have the option. Adam was the only one I looped in; he's of the opinion I need to cool it, but he was still only too happy to consult on the project. The discreetly slim box is in my bag, tucked into my blazer pocket, and I haven't yet decided anything. I'll see how the weekend goes and play it by ear.

Sitting on the balcony last night, taking in the familiar view, I couldn't help feeling like we'd finally put right something too long broken. Boston was never the same after Elle, but now at least I knew the story was getting a better ending than I'd thought the night before my own graduation. I didn't tell the whole truth, when Elle asked if I'd ever made it to that last dorm's roof. It's true I never made it to Winthrop, but I did go on one more midnight excursion after she left. It was the night before graduation and I'd just escaped from a seemingly endless, awkward dinner with my parents and Lee. Mom hadn't been able to keep herself from updating me on Elle and asking, again, what could have gone so wrong, and I'd ignored her questions as rudely as usual, all while feeling Lee's glare blazing. I really didn't need any help from him in the guilt department, though. I got through dinner, returned to my room to finish packing, and then gave in to the urge to revisit our most frequent rooftop hideaway, above my own dorm, one last time. I should have just called Elle, that night. I even stared at her name in my phone for a while before shutting it off entirely. I should have admitted that the anger I still felt was aimed at me and at our combined idiocy, not at her. But I didn't. I kept on telling myself the lie that the ball was in her court. Maybe she'd come by my graduation party—Mom was certain to have invited her—and maybe that would tell me if there was any hope.

But enough of all that. I didn't call that night, she didn't come by the party, we wasted more time, and we're not going to waste even more time now rehashing our mistakes.

So I just watch her sleep. I've learned my lesson about provoking Dinah into waking Elle up, but that doesn't mean I can't keep one hand curved quietly over her to track the flips and kicks. I don't know why I find it so surprising that she's often awake when Elle's asleep, or vice versa. It's a reminder they aren't actually one and the same, despite my inability to imagine Dinah as anything but a tinier version of Elle. We've still made zero progress on a real name. Well, not quite zero. Occasionally we stumble upon a name that Elle doesn't declare too boring and that I don't consider too weird, and I think Elle is keeping a list of those. But nothing has sounded right so far and maybe we really do just have to wait and meet her. I'm okay with that, now that I don't have to keep calling her Dino in the meantime. I've even started to like the sound of Dinah, but Elle's veto of it was pretty adamant, as is her utter refusal to consider anything resembling Shelly. Maybe if I pointed out that I might stop calling _her_ Shelly if the kid were named that... except I never will stop, and I don't actually think she wants me to. Anyway, it's just a name. Given what else we've managed to work out so far, I'm not worried about this one.

Finally it's late enough to risk waking Elle by getting up, and after throwing on some clothes I swing by the coffee shop downstairs. If I've learned anything these last two months, it's that I'd better be ready to provide Elle's precious one daily cup of coffee and some breakfast—preferably in the form of baked goods—as soon as possible after daring to wake her. This isn't technically a _new_ demand of hers, but the consequences of failure are decidedly more dire these days. And no, it doesn't matter that we're about to meet up with Lee for breakfast; there still needs to be first breakfast _now_ if I want Elle to actually get up and get ready for the day without murdering me. As we finally head out the door, I realize what's still in the pocket of the blazer I'm wearing; while I don't plan to need it today, the point was to have the option, and better not to leave something like that in the room anyway.

Elle insists on taking the bus rather than hopping in a cab, and I'll grant her that the nostalgia value of riding that familiar route is high. The 1 starts next to Harvard and cuts through MIT's campus on its way into Boston, passing not too far a walk from BU, so between the three of us we logged a lot of miles on that bus. I let Elle and Lee chatter away over breakfast while I wonder exactly how many hours of my life I've spent listening to those two; at least now I realize why I could never just ignore them. I sit back and listen, watch, soak it all in again. Seeing Elle back on a campus we'd spent almost as much time hanging around as our own. She rolls her eyes when I make her stop and pose on MIT's main entrance steps, but I have a picture of her there from way back, from the time she and Lee flew to Boston for admitted students' weekends, and suddenly I need its bookend. She'd looked amazing that day, even more so than usual, and maybe it was the glow of knowing she'd be here all the time next year, that our separation was nearly over. Today, though, Elle's somehow even more beautiful. She keeps talking about how huge she thinks she's getting, and I wish I could make her see reason. Or just get her to see what I see. I've tried telling her that before, of course, and she just laughs and tells me that's all vestigial caveman instincts, that I just like seeing her pregnant because it's mine. Which... definitely isn't all of it but isn't wrong either, and I'm not sure why that would be a bad thing. But even if she refuses to believe me, I'm still going to capture these moments.

Lee heads off to line up with his classmates and I watch Elle and my parents chat as we wait for the ceremony to get started. I think my dad has finally fully chilled out about the situation—at least, to Elle. He and I still have our tensions, and ironically over the very thing I've been debating ahead of this trip, but around Elle he's lost that stiff awkwardness he'd had a month ago, at family lunch. And Mom, well, no comment needed there. She's again claiming that she predicted this, and if that's true, I'm glad she butted out enough for it to actually happen. I wonder if that's why she has yet to join Dad's nagging about marriage, if it's because that's also on her list of years-ago predictions she's smugly sitting back to watch unfold, knowing no intervention is necessary. The slim case remains tucked into the inner pocket of my blazer and every so often I check for it, reassured to feel its outline and slight weight.

Elle makes an absolute spectacle of herself cheering when Lee's name is called and he walks across the stage to collect his diploma, and I have only myself to blame for the flash of regret that I didn't get that same treatment at my graduation. Lee mugs for the cameras, and seeing my kid brother graduate makes me feel weirdly old. Lee hates it when I call him that, and reminds me that I don't even have two full years on him, but whatever. He's still my kid brother, and both of us being out of school feels like a milestone. Lee's out of school, therefore Lee's old, therefore I'm old. You'd think impending fatherhood would be worse for making me feel old, but no one said these things make sense.

There's a crush of graduates and families at the reception Lee's department hosts after the ceremony, and I convince Elle to sit while I go get us drinks and try to find Lee. I should have guessed that in the meantime Elle would make friends, and by the time I return there are three guys sitting at the table with her. I'm the last person to need Elle's magnetism explained, but it makes me laugh every time. Well, laugh and then swoop in. That's what Lee used to call it when I decided it was time to walk over and drape an affectionate arm around my extremely charming girlfriend while smiling smugly at her disappointed admirers. Personally, I prefer to think of it as _clarifying the situation_ , and these guys look to be in need of clarity. Elle laughs when she sees me walking over with my best glare on, but it turns out there's no need for it, these guys are friends of Lee's and already aware of the situation. Extremely well aware, as apparently Lee can't shut up about being an uncle. Lee's not bad as far as annoying kid brothers go, but don't tell him I said that.

Speaking of, he finds us through the crowd and I finally get to meet Jenna. She's clearly way too good for Lee, but apparently there are women out there who find my brother appealing. Which, you know, good for him, but also good for me if it distracts him from meddling. I say as much to Elle when Jenna steps away for a minute, and it's true that sometimes I deserve those sharp elbow jabs of hers. All kidding aside, Jenna seems nice enough. From the slightly disconcerted look on her face I gather she's not yet used to the Elle and Lee show, and I'm tempted to take her aside for a quick primer on the wonder twins. I am the world's reluctant expert in putting up with their nonsense, not to mention the person best placed to reassure Lee's girlfriends that there really isn't anything romantic between those two and never has been. New friends always seem puzzled that this has never worried me, but I've been watching these two literally their entire lives. And besides, Lee isn't anywhere near good enough an actor to fake his utter and persistent bewilderment that I could possibly think of Elle romantically. We have never, ever seen her the same way and thank God for that.

My parents insist on taking us all out to dinner that evening, Jenna included, and after weeks of Elle's and my relationship being the subject of way too much familial attention, it's nice to sit back and watch Lee squirm instead. Lee's headed to Seattle and Jenna has another year of law school to go in Boston, so I wonder what their plan is. I tried to ask him earlier today, but Lee just rolled his eyes and told me normal people don't start making long-term plans after four months. It sure sounded like Lee intended that as a dig, but I'm also certain he'd have killed me if I'd ever said that about Elle. Thankfully, not really an issue. Elle and Jenna do seem to be hitting it off, so at least the girl stands a chance of lasting, should she for some inexplicable reason continue to find my brother's company enjoyable.

I check my pocket again as I watch Elle demolish a piece of cake the size of her head while chatting with my mom about our plans for the rest of the weekend. The box is still there, still waiting for me to make up my damn mind. I don't have any kind of plan worked out, and the rational side of my brain is still telling me to wait, but the option is there. Today, though, has been about Lee and about family, about the end of an era for all of us, and the time just doesn't seem right.

Elle insists we walk back to the hotel, and I've learned the hard way not to ask if maybe she shouldn't be taking it easier. It's a gorgeous night, though, and I have to laugh when we walk past my freshman dorm and Elle pulls me into a courtyard alcove we were once quite familiar with. I won't be talked into letting her scale any roofs right now, but this memory I have no objection revisiting. Stone benches are still as uncomfortable as I remember them, however, and eventually I remind Elle we have a very nice room with an actual bed awaiting us.

The last stretch of the walk takes us along the Charles and for one brief moment, when we round a curve and the city lights suddenly span the horizon across the river, I reconsider everything rational. We're not far from the footbridge she loved and I'm reasonably certain Elle would give me high marks for the cheesy romance of it all... Unless, of course, she's too busy telling me I'm insane or, worse yet, quietly panicking. And then Elle's phone rings and the moment evaporates as fast as it appeared, and it's probably for the best. It's Mickey calling, and Elle launches into enthusiastic tales about her day and how everything is just as she remembered it, and that's what convinces me this isn't the time. This weekend is about closure, not the future.

I'm still glad to have that ring in my pocket, and I hope to need it soon, but not before the time is right. And if there's one truth this year has driven home, it's that expectations can flip in a heartbeat. Plans are good, options are good, but in the end you just have to read the room and roll with the punches. Maybe it'll be this week, maybe much later. But not tonight.


	41. Wanderings

**_(Elle)_**

Pregnancy insomnia strikes again, and by the time I've used the bathroom and had a snack it's clear I won't be falling back asleep any time soon. For once that's convenient, as I've got one last final to study for. Not to mention, it's an opportunity to watch Noah sleep, something I too rarely get to do given his annoyingly early-rising habits. I curl up on the couch with my notes and actually manage to get a solid chunk of studying done before Noah stirs and I decide to join him back in bed. Apparently he's not actually interested in waking up, though, as he buries his face under a pillow after briefly cracking an eye open to check the time. I curl up behind him and start tracing light patterns over his neck, laughing as he tries to shake my hand off.

"See, it's not so funny when you're the one who wants to keep sleeping." I keep right on tickling him; he's earned some payback.

"It's six a.m. Why are you even awake?" Noah mutters.

"Pregnancy sucks. I've been awake since four, figured I'd get some studying done. And why aren't _you_ awake? Are you getting lazy in your old age?"

"Jetlag, Shelly. And if you don't remember why I didn't get to sleep until late last night, I'm a little offended."

"Hmmmm. I think I recall, but a reminder would be good."

"Nope. Let me explain how this works, at least according to you. The annoyingly awake person has to provide coffee and breakfast if they expect entertainment from the sleeping person."

"No, the rule is _you_ have to provide coffee to _me_. It's just coincidence that I'm usually the sleepy one."

Noah burrows deeper into his pillow, and it doesn't look like I've convinced him. Fine, I'll let him snooze for a bit. I get up to draw the curtains closed to darken the room, then curl back up next to him, playing with his hair.

"You got a haircut. I thought maybe you were letting it get long again." Okay, so I lied about letting him snooze.

"Not intentionally, and Mom threatened me if I didn't clean it up before Lee's graduation. Why, you don't like it?"

"No, it _looks_ great. But you know I love the moppy hair."

"You and no one else."

"Well, no one else plays with your hair. At least, I hope."

Noah pretends to think about it for just a second too long and I'm about to exact revenge when Dinah does it for me. Apparently she's not pleased at how tightly I've pressed up against his back and she's decided to shove him away herself.

"No fair getting Dinah to fight your battles for you." Noah groans, rolling away.

"Yeah, because I have total control over the kicking. All those times she's stomped on my organs, that was intentional."

"Whatever. You win. I'm getting up. I'm going to get coffee. Try to be less obnoxious, both of you, when I get back."

"No, I'm getting up too. We're going to that place with the crunchy French toast. Come on, it's stupid early and we're both awake, it'll be like Saturday practices."

One semester Noah's coach tried scheduling Saturday morning practices. He gave up after a couple months of incredibly cranky and hung-over players, but until he did Noah used to have to bribe me with the promise of French toast to kick me out of his room that early.

"Are they even still open?"

"There's a thing called the internet. You think I didn't check on all my favorites before flying out here?"

Noah grumbles a little more but he knows better than to stand in my way right now, and soon enough we're walking into Zoe's. A waitress comes to seat us and her face lights up after a second, just as I'm recognizing her too.

"Miss Elle! And your young man whose name I'm sorry to have forgotten."

Ah, Miss Nancy. It's never been clear to me whether she actually owns this place or just acts like it, but she treats all the college student regulars like her wayward grandkids, and woe betide anyone foolish enough to get on her bad side. And yes, it's _Miss_ Nancy, no ill-mannered informality advised unless you want to be denied breakfast. She eyes us carefully before nodding and then leading us to a table. I'm a little amazed she remembers my name, but she did love to chat, and back then we'd keep talking long after Noah had left for practice. I'm half expecting her to start interrogating me about the pregnancy and what we've been up to in the past three years, but other than some pointed glances and hiked eyebrows she says nothing. At least, until she pulls me aside as I'm walking back from the bathroom.

"I'm so glad to see you again, and with such good news on the way. But I couldn't help but notice the lack of rings. Do I need to scare that boy a little, remind him of his responsibilities?"

The look on her face is half kindly, half scarily serious, and I have to laugh. Nancy really does believe she's everyone's grandmother. Everyone's extremely overbearing, old-fashioned grandmother. "It's fine, Miss Nancy. It's... been a weird year and we've been busy with other stuff. But you don't need to do any threatening."

Nancy looks unconvinced. "Busy? City Hall is just down the street. Getting a license takes no time at all. You could be married by lunchtime and come back here to tell me. And I _know_ they do weddings on Saturdays."

Now I'm curious how many people Nancy has badgered into getting married that she knows the marriage license office's hours.

"That's, uh, helpful information. But maybe not today. And we don't actually live here anymore, we're back home in LA."

"I'm sure LA has a city hall."

"I'll keep that in mind. I promise. And I'll send you a picture if we do."

" _If_?" Nancy clearly does not approve. "Well, you're not getting any more of my French toast until you do. It's not for you you get married, you know, it's for that baby."

"You're very persuasive. I promise I'll keep you updated. And I think Noah's starting to get concerned that you keep glaring at him while talking to me, so I'm just going to... go sit back down. Please don't put any poison in his coffee."

Miss Nancy's dismissive _hmmphh_ is not entirely reassuring as to her intentions, but she sweeps off to the kitchen without further comment. Noah gives me a curious look as I sit back down.

"It's a long story, but we can't come back here for a while." I tell him.

"Do I want to know?"

"You really don't."

"So, where to now?" Noah asks, our breakfast finished.

"I want to wander."

"Wander? At random?"

"No, but just... around. There's nowhere specific I need to go, but I was hoping to visit BU campus today. We could walk over."

"Are you sure? You were on your feet a long time yesterday, and -"

Not this again. "Yes, I'm sure I can _walk_. I've been walking for twenty-two years, I think I've got the hang of it."

Noah rolls his eyes at me. "You know what I meant."

"No. Please enlighten me."

"You're pregnant. Very pregnant."

"I'm _what_?" I give him my best shocked face. "Holy crap, why didn't anyone tell me? Is _that_ why none of my pants fit? ... Wait, who's the father?"

"Hilarious."

"What's hilarious is your and everybody else's belief that being pregnant makes me feeble. How do you think I've been getting to classes and lab and the library? _Walking_. I even have a heavy backpack I carry just to make things harder. And then sometimes I go swim in the evenings. I can handle a morning stroll."

"And after that swim you call and tell me how exhausted you are."

"Yes. As is normal to be after a workout, knocked up or not. Seriously, chill. I feel fine and I've got another seven weeks of this. If I stop walking now I really will become an invalid once I get even bigger."

At least he knows better than to keep arguing with me. But really, enough with the worrying.

Noah insists that if we're crossing the river we at least go by way of Harvard's football facilities, and it's nice seeing him there again, even if it reminds me of a question that's been bothering me.

"Do you miss playing?" I ask with some hesitation.

"Football? Not really. I miss the whole team and competition thing, but I've been getting that from coaching."

"And in LA?"

"In LA what?"

"Are you going to find some kind of coaching gig?"

He shrugs, and I don't know if I should feel guilty about this, too.

"Don't make that face, Shelly. If I miss it too much, I'll do something about it. But I figure we're going to be busy enough next year."

"Yeah, so everyone tells me."

"And besides, I've got baseball to brush up on so I can coach Brad."

"You really don't need to try that hard. You're already his hero." I laugh.

"All the more reason to live up to it."

He's obnoxiously sweet sometimes.

We slowly wander our way in the direction of BU, and it's nice having a lazy morning together. Not physically lazy, because we've covered several miles by the time I get my fill of wandering, but I've put this week's finals and all the other graduation stress out of my mind and we have nothing to get done and no schedule to follow. It's just a walk with Noah, a weird mix of feeling nineteen again by moments and scarily adult at others. We're debating his job offers again, but I really don't want to have a say in this one. He's already quitting and moving for me, so I need at least this decision to be entirely his. I do have an opinion—I'd rather he go work with Natalie than for one of Matthew's buddies, the other option so far—but he seems to be leaning that way anyway, so I keep quiet.

We finally make it to campus, and I'm enjoying soaking it all in again. I keep excitedly pointing things out to Noah, as if he hadn't been almost as familiar with this campus as I was. I stop by the campus bookstore to buy an infant-sized BU shirt, and based on the face Noah makes I assume he'll be buying the kid a Harvard shirt for balance as soon as we get back across the river. That's fine, I've already got a stash of UCLA outfits from the shower and Lee bought out the MIT bookstore's supply of baby wear, so no way is Noah winning this war. I'm tempted to order a Yale onesie online. Maybe I'll save that for when he's really ticked me off.

It's when we sit on the green behind the chapel to rest for a minute that it suddenly hits me. There's no specific trigger, nothing in particular I see or hear that brings it all back, the emotions just surge and boil over on their own. And I couldn't even tell you what all those emotions are, exactly. Regret and relief and disappointment and nostalgia and frustration and anger, all swirling, and I'm crying for the first time in weeks. Noah looks alarmed at first, but I think he also gets it, gets that there's nothing for him to say or do other than keep an arm tight around me until I've cried it all out. It's about him and about us but also about so much more, and it's long overdue. Eventually the tears run out and I feel calm again, and we just kind of get up after a few minutes and keep on walking.

My early wake up starts hitting me hard, so once we've had lunch I convince Noah to go see his parents and Lee while I head back to the hotel for a nap. We're meeting up with my BU friends tonight, and I'm not going to make it past dinner without some extra sleep.

I wake several hours later to the sound of Noah and Lee trying and failing to keep their squabbling quiet.

"I'm just saying, Lee works very well as a girl's name. As you yourself used to delight in telling me."

There's a muted thump, a burst of surprised laughter, followed by another thump and then another, and when I give in and open my eyes those lunatics are clobbering each other with the couch's throw pillows. They haven't noticed I'm awake and I grab my phone to make sure there's video evidence of the fact they are still absolute toddlers around each other. As long as there's no actual violence, I've given up. Noah does have Lee pinned, though, so maybe I should intervene.

"You are college graduates, both of you. Well past your teens. Alleged grownups. Don't make me send the video I just took to your mom."

"Elle, hey, sorry, did we wake you? We were just... having a discussion." Lee claims sheepishly, taking advantage of Noah releasing his arms to get one last elbow jab in.

"Yeah, I heard. Lee, I love you dearly, but for the last time, I'm not naming this baby Lee. And _you_ , stop smirking, because _your_ name ideas are even worse."

They seriously are. Noah either has the world's most boring taste in names, or is secretly a hundred years old, because he keeps throwing out grandma names like Mary and Sarah. He claims my suggestions are weird, and too bad for him, because I'm going to decree that carrying and birthing this baby grants me exclusive naming privileges.

"Lee, why are you even here?" I ask.

"Aren't you meeting up with your BU friends tonight?"

"Yeah. And?"

"I liked those guys too, you know."

"Lee's going to join us for dinner and then he and I will peel off while you and your friends do whatever girly things you have planned." Noah adds.

"We're going to sit around Mindy's apartment with whoever shows up to see me. I'm not sure that's especially girly, nor are all the invitees women. And can I trust you two not to murder each other if left alone? This pillow fight situation is not inspiring confidence, and I'd rather you both stay alive and out of jail."

"After twenty-three years, wouldn't I have done it by now if I were going to?" Noah smirks.

"Uh huh. And how often was _I_ the only thing preventing you two from killing each other?"

"To be fair, you were frequently also the reason we were trying to." Lee points out.

"Fine, whatever. As long as Dinah has either a father or an uncle left alive, right now I can't say I care strongly which one of you it is."

* * *

 ** _(Noah)_**

Dinner with Elle's former suitemates goes well. I'd forgotten how fun her gang was, and I realize now I've missed them, even if their loss didn't exactly register back then compared to everything else. Lee's clearly having fun too, and I even wonder if he isn't flirting with one of them a little, but I should probably leave any meddling on that topic to Elle. Pretty soon she and her friends are deep into ancient private jokes and incomprehensible references, and Lee and I leave them to catch up while we find a sports bar. Lee turned a lot more Bostonian than I ever did, and he wants to watch one last Sox game surrounded by locals before leaving. Why, I'm not sure, since Sox fans were pretty much the worst thing about Boston in my experience, but whatever, I can use the opportunity to brush up on baseball for Brad.

In the end I don't have to decide whether to ask about Lee's earlier flirting, because he brings Jenna up himself. Apparently the answer to what their plan is for after he leaves town is... no real plan, and it's sounding like that's intentional on his part.

"I don't know. I mean, it's only been a few months, and all this graduation stuff has made me realize I'm just not that torn up about leaving," Lee tells me, staring contemplatively at his beer.

I'm not sure if he's expecting a response.

"Just... make sure _she_ knows that. She seemed pretty into you." I finally say.

"Yeah. I thought I was too."

"Into you? Yeah. You're definitely more into you than anyone else is."

Lee rolls his eyes. "You knew what I meant, jackass. Anyway, I'd been assuming we'd keep this going, but then I ran into Kristina at graduation. Flynn, Gordon—we were in the same line-up area, we ended up talking."

"Great. Here we go again," I groan.

Kristina dumped Lee almost two years ago. Not, like, horribly, but he took it hard anyway. Or at least, hard enough to have voluntarily talked to me about it, which is saying something. There were some frankly embarrassing attempts to win her back for a while there, but I really thought he was over it by now.

"Relax. I'm not still carrying a torch or anything. But talking to her, and then seeing Jenna later, I don't know. It put things in perspective."

"So you're going to compare every girl to Kris and dump them if they don't make you forget her? Sounds like a great plan."

Lee looks at me with raised eyebrows. "Wait, are you seriously trying to give me breakup advice? Exactly how many girls have _you_ dated and gotten over?"

Before I can respond, Lee keeps going. "And by dated, I don't mean hooked up with, or took to dinner twice. How many girls have you ever referred to as your girlfriend? Or, to set a really low bar, gone on more than three dates with?"

I roll my eyes at him. He knows the answer.

"Yeah. I thought so. So maybe you're not the best authority on moving on after a breakup since you have literally _never_ managed it. No, don't try to tell me Megan. I saw you together and there was never anything to move on from. I mean, speaking as Elle's best friend, I'm glad you've become one of those weird animals that mates for life and then just sits there looking forlorn instead of finding a replacement if that mate gets eaten by a bear. But forgive me if I laugh at the idea of you doling out advice on dating. God, you and Elle."

"Me and Elle what?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

Lee stares into his glass before smirking. "Elle likes to volunteer dating advice too, and she's nearly as unqualified."

"Nearly?"

"Do you know how hard I tried to get her socializing again? And Mickey did, too. And because she's not you, she usually went on a few dates before giving them the _it's not you, it's me_ speech. But you and I are not having this conversation."

Nor do I want to. Elle has alluded to some dating, but there are aspects of her life in our time apart I have no interest in knowing about.

"Fine. I don't actually want to discuss your girl drama. But tell Jenna, is all I'm saying."

"Again, advice from you on talking rather than avoiding someone... but yeah, we're done with this conversation."

Just because I've been an idiot doesn't mean I'm not aware I've been an idiot, but whatever. I'll gladly leave dealing with Lee's love life to Elle, and we go back to watching the game for a while.

"You ready for this?" Lee asks suddenly.

"This... the baby?"

"The baby. Moving in with Elle. The wedding Mom's been planning for ten years."

"No, yes, and cool it."

"Cool it? Me? I'm not the one walking around with a ring in his pocket."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb. You've patted your pocket five times this evening, and I lost count yesterday. Can I see it?"

"No."

"So it _is_ there."

"No comment."

"Is there a plan?"

"Nothing imminent. Not that I'd tell you."

"So you're just walking around with a ring for no reason?"

"Elle likes to spring things on me, it's good to be prepared." Apparently it's been time enough to find some humor in how long I was kept in the dark.

"Very Boy Scout of you."

"Too bad you got us kicked out of Scouts." I laugh.

"Look, they wouldn't let Elle join. I had to take a stand."

"It used to drive me crazy, your inability to do anything without her. Every day, there you two were, driving me nuts."

"If I'd realized it was going to cause you to become hopelessly, pathetically enamored of my best friend, I promise we would only have hung out at her house."

"Hindsight is 20/20. Anyway, I'm glad you didn't." I drain my glass and wonder whether to order another.

"So glad that you're carrying a ring around _just in case_? Don't do it this weekend, man. All she's talked about are the old days. She's, like, wrapping up loose ends and saying goodbye."

"Yeah, figured that one out for myself."

"Good. Because she doesn't want Boston you proposing to Boston her. Do it later, back home, when it's about who you are now and what you want your future to be. That sounds good, by the way, write that down and use that."

"No."

"Think you can come up with better?"

"Yes. And even if I couldn't, the absolute last person I want ghostwriting a proposal is you."

"Yeah, you're right. It's weird enough as it is."

I don't really have a response to that, but Lee continues anyway.

"I'm not going to say anything about this to her, by the way. I know you don't believe me, but I do understand brotherly loyalty."

"Would you really have told me if I hadn't stumbled on the news myself?" I believe Elle when she says she was about to tell me. I'm not sure I believe Lee when he says _he_ would have.

"If Elle still hadn't by the next weekend? Yeah. Again, she's not the only one I care about."

I'm tempted to respond with a wisecrack about that being news to me, but instead I just tell him I'm cutting off his beer supply before he gets any sappier.

"One tip, though: If the idea is to surprise her, or not freak her out, be less obvious about the ring box."

I roll my eyes at him.

"Wait, more advice. No public proposals. One time a guy proposed on the Jumbotron at Fenway and Elle wouldn't shut up about what kind of jerk would do that. So don't do that."

"Noted."

"And you're aware of her many strong opinions on jewelry, right?"

"I thought we agreed we weren't talking about this."

"Forgive me for not wanting you to screw this up."

"You wanted to watch the game. Watch the game." I really, really have no interest in discussing this with Lee.

"Fine. But when you realize you don't know what you're doing, at least call Mickey."

It's not until we're leaving the bar that I give in and ask.

"Do you think she'd say yes?" I don't look at Lee, just focus on the credit card slip I'm signing.

"Right now? I think she'd want to. I also think she'd hesitate. Not about you, about everything else. The timing and the rush and having everyone badgering her about it all the time."

I don't respond, and Lee goes on. "At least let her graduate, get yourself moved down to LA, settle in. Honestly, maybe wait until after the baby. Although, Jenna says you shouldn't. She was taking family law this semester and she gave me a whole list of reasons why it would be smarter to be married before the baby's born. But I can tell you Elle would hate that reason. I don't know. She's kind of weird on this topic."

"So your advice, as the person who claims to know Elle best, is that you have no idea."

"Basically."

"That's really helpful."


	42. Homeward Bound

**_I'm back & this story is completed! Chapters 42 to 61 being posted this weekend; epilogue soon. _**

**_(Elle)_**

After looking forward to this trip for weeks, I can't believe it's already time to head home. Noah and I went back to BU campus this morning for breakfast at my favorite diner, and afterward I convinced him to take one last long walk back across the bridge. It's hard to explain why I've missed walking along and across the Charles so much, maybe more so than I've missed any of our campuses, but I have. I loved being out on the river so much that I actually tried going out for crew sophomore year, until it became glaringly obvious that I was neither tall enough to row competitively nor tiny enough to cox. That, and it turns out crew practices are ridiculously early. Noah laughed at that reason for dropping my flirtation with crew and going back to soccer, but these things matter. Five am wake-ups are just unnatural... unless you're pregnant, apparently, but thankfully that wasn't relevant back then.

Seeing my BU friends last night was awesome. Questions about the baby did dominate the conversation at first, but after I filled in a few details beyond the basics that had been in my announcement email I managed to get everyone talking about themselves instead. It's fun jumping ahead three years in everyone's story—finding out which gung-ho premeds finally realized that was their parents' dream, not theirs, and which slackers turned out to be total superstars; which perfect couples exploded messily, and which unlikely pairings doggedly went the distance. I'm not quite sure where Noah and I fall in those categories. My friends here seem to think we're neither, that we're some kind of exception, but I think we might honestly be both.

Mindy, the friend hosting our get-together, is currently living in my last dorm as residence staff, and I couldn't resist making a visit to my old room before leaving last night. It's where we'd spent that last perfect summer, Noah staying over most nights to be closer to his internship, but it's also where I got Brad's call, where I sat frozen on my bed while Noah somehow organized flights and packed while juggling calls to his parents, to Lee, to my relatives, to both our deans of students, to his coach, to everyone else we needed to alert. After three years it finally feels like I've moved past that day, like the promise and potential I'd started to imagine that summer are finally back within our sights.

I had planned to fly back with June and Matthew, but they've decided to extend their stay in Boston and I manage to talk Noah out of switching to my flight. I mean, obviously the time together would be nice, but not at the cost of him getting home that much later, and I've got work to do on the flight anyway. Besides, what exactly would having him there accomplish, if something _did_ happen? Unless he's been secretly attending medical school, it's not like he could _do_ anything if anything went wrong. Which it won't, other than in his wary imagination.

I'm trying hard not to think of the last time I waited in this airport for a flight home. Today, though, Noah does not follow me down the jetway when my flight boards; he just walks me to the gate and whispers _Friday_ before giving me a quick kiss and heading to his own flight's gate. Which is another reason why it would have been ridiculous for Noah to fly via LA just to spend the flight with me–we're going to see each other again in all of five days, when I fly up for a last visit before he moves.

But before I can get on that flight to San Francisco on Friday, I have a final to take, a term paper to hand in, and assorted loose ends to wrap up for my other classes. So I jam on my noise canceling headphones as soon as I'm seated and block out everything around me as I settle in for what needs to be a very productive flight. Taking off to Boston in the middle of finals period was perhaps not the wisest decision, but no way was I going to miss Lee's graduation or the chance to say goodbye to Boston.

I do take a few breaks from working, and it's hard then not to think about my last flight west. For once I let myself wonder if it could have worked—if I'd let Noah stay, way back when. I've been so convinced it never could have, and I _needed_ to be convinced of that or the regret would have destroyed me. But if after everything we've still managed to get it together now, surely we could have made it work then? But maybe not. We both did some growing up, we both changed, and maybe that made the difference. And if that wasn't it, maybe it was being forced to do without each other for a while that got our heads and hearts straight. Still, now that we're back together and the _what if_ is less painful, I can't help but idly wonder about a universe in which Noah stayed, we stayed together, and ... what, exactly? We play house and take care of Brad? When Dad comes home, does Noah move out? Do I go with him? Do we both transfer to UCLA? Or do we go back to Boston? The oddest part is my brain's insistence on adding Dinah to these scenarios. Maybe I'm getting to a point where I can't imagine our story without this plot twist.

This is when Mickey would tell me to snap out of it and quit torturing myself with pointless hypotheticals. Since she's not here, I'll settle for reminding myself that my paper is due in two days and that I'd _really_ like to graduate, and I dive back into my laptop for the remainder of the flight.

The next few days pass in a blur and suddenly it's Thursday afternoon and I'm done—totally and completely _done_ : not just with this quarter, but with all of college. My plan had been to relax and catch up on sleep tonight, but as I walk out of my exam it occurs to me that I can do those things just as well in San Francisco. Well, maybe not the catching up on sleep tonight part, but I can always sleep in after Noah heads to work tomorrow. By the time I've walked back to my apartment, my flight is rescheduled and Mickey laughs as I whirl around the apartment haphazardly packing a bag. I haven't decided yet whether to tell Noah or just show up. It feels like he's earned a surprise appearance after all of his, but I'd hate to show up at his door and discover he's out with friends. Ah, except I know those friends, or at least one of them. Adam assures me Noah will be home all evening with a stack of finals to grade, and that he'll talk him out of any attempt to change those plans.

The surprise is almost ruined when I turn my phone on after landing and there are messages from Noah asking why my phone is going to voicemail and why I'm not responding to his messages, but he seems to buy it when I tell him Mickey and I were at the movies. We trade messages as my cab makes its way to his apartment and I go out of my way to tease him with _plans_ for tomorrow until he finally threatens to block my number if I don't stop torturing him.

I'd debated a number of snarky or flirtatious comments to make when Noah opens the door, but when he actually does I forget every last one, along with my ability to speak in general. Which is fine, because neither of us seems particularly interested in conversation. I'll give him credit for reacting to the surprise appearance with less flustered confusion than I ever did, though I do feel some satisfaction to for once catch _him_ in sweats while I'm nicely dressed. Any difference in our attire rapidly disappears, of course.

"You remember calculus, right?" Noah asks me quite a while later, just as I'm debating whether to let myself fall asleep in this satisfied haze.

I can't help a mad burst of giggling before managing to respond. "That's got to be in the top five of questions I never expected to be asked naked in bed, but yes, mostly. Why?"

"See, there's this stack of finals I was supposed to finish grading tonight, but I seem to have gotten sidetracked."

"That was foolish of you. You should work on your time management."

"It's just, if I don't finish them tonight I'll have to work on them tomorrow, and my girlfriend's visiting then. And she's _very_ unreasonable about letting me get work done when she's around."

"Can't you tell her you were busy with me?"

"Then I'll be dead and the finals _really_ won't get graded."

"Hmmmm. She sounds horrible."

"You have no idea."

"Fine. But if I'm getting roped into this, there's going to need to be snacks."

"One step ahead of you. Look next to the fridge."

Now I'm intrigued, and after pulling on clothes I make my way back to the kitchen. There's an assortment of my favorite junk food stacked at one end of the counter, and I tear into a box of cookies with glee.

"Just make sure you leave some for my girlfriend. She gets even more unreasonable when forced to eat real food."

"If you keep this joke up, I'm going to have to ask who _I_ am in this scenario."

Between the two of us we get through the grading relatively easily, although at one point Noah does ask me to make my handwriting a little less girly. I wasn't aware it was, but after that I start dotting my i's with little hearts. What are they going to do, fire him for outsourcing his grading to his girlfriend? Joke's on them—he already quit for me.

I sleep through Noah getting up the next morning and a couple hours beyond that, but I do have an alarm set for eleven; Noah has promised to come pick me up so I can have lunch with him and his friends. His friends seem less unknown and intimidating to me now than my last trip up here, but it's still a little odd thinking that he has this whole gang I've barely met. At least Adam will be there.

Seeing Noah at work is a trip. The campus looks nothing like Country Day overall, but their lunchroom does remind me of ours, and a few times when I look up and see Noah in his half-rolled sleeves and loosened tie I briefly forget where and _when_ we are. And then I look down again and notice that not only am I not in uniform, but I definitely wasn't rocking this belly in high school. Besides, I'm not sure we actually ever ate lunch together in high school, at least not in public.

I know Noah told his friends the truth about this year, and I've braced for questions about it, but the lunch crowd turns out to be more eager to tell me stories than to interrogate me. The stories all boil down to the same recurring themes: the number of their friends they tried and failed to set up with Noah, his insufferable attitude this winter, and his reportedly hilarious transformation this spring. Given the eye rolls these comments elicit from him, I'm going to guess this isn't the first time he's had to put up with this teasing, but hey, _I_ 'm loving it.

I also discover, to my horror, that the initial story circulated by the students who caught us kissing that night we walked around campus was that I was a _student_ at their rival high school. I guess that's one of the risks of looking perpetually sixteen. Thankfully, Adam caught wind of that rumor and squashed it before it collided disastrously with that week's _other_ hot news that Flynn had a pregnant girlfriend. Apparently this is also the first Noah's heard of that version of the rumor, and it's a good thing those guys were seniors and already done with classes, because based on his expression I think they'd be about to get an interesting talking-to.

"They only started that rumor to get their own girlfriends to stop talking about Flynn, you know," Gwen leans over to tell me, noticing my horrified expression.

"I'm not sure that makes it any less disturbing."

Also disturbing: hearing him referred to as Flynn again. I need to get to his future new coworkers before he does and make it clear his name is Noah; I make a note to myself to call Natalie and enlist her help. There are a lot of Flynns in my life, and soon to be more, so Noah can't just monopolize the name and make everything confusing.

"No, but I thought you might like to know how _very_ jealous you've made quite a few of my students," Gwen laughs.

"Still horrifying. But it explains some of the looks I'm getting from them right now."

"Yeah, well, don't worry. Their dreams were hopeless long before you appeared on the scene. Well, reappeared. I called this, by the way."

"Called what?"

"When Lee visited and we finally got the backstory on that girl in Flynn's old pictures he never wanted to talk about, I figured you'd reappear at some point. Flynn clearly wasn't over you, and if you were Lee's best friend he wasn't going to be able to avoid you forever."

I love how many people are convinced they predicted this all along. Because, let me tell you, it didn't feel that certain to work out from _my_ perspective these last few years. But I definitely don't mind hearing from yet another of Noah's friends that he never seemed like he was over me. I just wish all these friends had shared their conclusions with us a little earlier rather than letting us slowly figure it out on our own.

Adam ends up being the one to drop me back off after lunch, as he's got the hour following lunch free. He's got a million questions for me, and he seems a little concerned by how much baby prep we've got left to do.

"You haven't met June, have you?" I ask him rhetorically. "I promise you, she's on top of it, and we're better off just staying out of her way. And anyway, we've got another six weeks. That's plenty of time."

"Your _due date_ is in six weeks. That doesn't mean you have six weeks left. My middle sister had both her kids two weeks early."

"Ugh, don't jinx me. I don't want to hear it." I'm well aware of this, but I prefer to ignore that possibility.

"Then again, it could be _eight_ more weeks. But you probably don't want that. My youngest sister went late, and she seemed pretty miserable."

"Like I said– _I'm not listening to your jinxy jinx talk_. Six weeks. It'll be fine."

"Fine, stay in denial." Adam laughs. "Here, before I forget, my sisters wanted me to give you their numbers. They got a little worried when they heard you guys were asking _me_ about baby stuff, so they said to tell you to call or text any time."

"Thanks, that's really sweet of them."

I look at the paper Adam just handed me, then burst out laughing.

"Wait—your sisters are named Annie, Alex, and Adele? Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. And my parents' current dog is Alfie. They're really into themes."

"So if you'd been a girl... ?"

"Agnes." Adam shudders.

I can't help wincing. "Don't mention that to Noah. That's exactly the kind of weird grandma name he'd go for."

"See, I hear _you_ 're the one with weird name ideas." Adam smirks.

"Whatever. Noah thinks anything with more than two syllables is weird."

"Just wait until she's born. Pretty sure he'll be too in awe to argue with whatever name you want."

"That's the plan."

"But if he's _still_ being difficult then, just let me know. You're going to let me visit, right? I love newborns. They smell nice. It's like new-car smell but for people."

"That's a little weird."

"Nah, you'll see what I mean."

"Ugh, I wish you weren't going to be so far away. It's nice seeing Noah have someone he actually talks to."

"You do know this is recent, right? I mean, we hung out before, but Noah was never one to talk about anything personal. Not until you showed up."

"Well, I'm glad you guys did become close. You're good for him. And _I_ like you."

"Ah, but see, that was the genius of being friends with me. Anyone else he picked, he'd be worried they'd fall for you, too. Because I can tell you he is incapable of imagining anyone _not_. But with me... he knows I'm impervious to your charms."

"Are you really?" I ask him with an exaggerated pout.

"What can I say, you're just not my type." He grins at me.

"Oh yeah, so what _is_ your type?"

"Noah."

I can't help choking on the sip of water I'd just taken, and Adam's deadpan expression quickly cracks up.

"Sorry, I had to. Your face—I should have gotten a video. But no, not really. I mean, no offense to him, or to your taste in men, but I like my men a little less Clark Kent and a little more Peter Parker."

"Good, because things were about to get awkward. And thanks for that, uh, visual."

"I promise, I have no designs on your boyfriend. As if anyone could get his attention off you, anyway. Man, we are going to miss teasing him about you at lunch times."

"I wish I weren't making him leave all this behind."

"Are you kidding me? How he is now and how he was before... there's no comparison. Trust me when I say leaving here isn't even going to register for him compared to being with you. If that idiot had just mentioned what the hell happened in October instead of silently brooding, I would have shoved him into my car and driven him to LA months earlier. And not for his sake, for all of ours, to not have to put up with his miserable attitude any longer."

I have this sudden vision of Adam sitting at a bar with Lee and Mickey, the three of them trying to outdo each other with stories of just how terribly Noah and I handled this winter. On the one hand, Lee should win easily, since he had to deal with _both_ of us. On the other, Mickey and Adam had to put up with me and Noah live and in person on a near-daily basis. Too close to call, probably.

Adam drops me off, promising to call later to work out the last details of the farewell party he's throwing us tomorrow, and now I have a few hours to kill. I may as well get something useful done rather than sit around waiting for Noah to get back. He's already started packing for the move, and the contrast with Lee's half-packed apartment last week makes me laugh. Lee's apartment looked like it had exploded, drawers and shelves spilling their contents everywhere, the floor an obstacle course of half-filled boxes and unsteady piles. Noah's apartment is also in relative upheaval, except for him that means a few open boxes sitting next to orderly stacks of sorted items ready to be packed, and finished boxes neatly stacked in one corner. I once theorized that it was all those years of rigid practice schedules and memorizing playbooks that made him so organized, but then he asked what _my_ excuse was, given I'd spent almost as long playing soccer. I guess we're about to find out what happens when Noah has to live with someone a little more relaxed about messiness.

I figure books are the safest pick for something Noah won't need in the next week. I quickly get through the shelves within my reach, then pull a side table over to stand on so I can reach the higher shelves. Noah would flip if he saw me, but it's perfectly safe—the table is wide and stable, and I checked it would hold my weight. I've nearly cleared the top shelf, moving its contents a few shelves down to where I'll be able to reach them after climbing back off the table, when I get to the last few books and rediscover the photo albums I'd made him. Except, unlike my last trip up here, this time they're _all_ here. The high school pictures, the college pictures, the football pictures, and now the fourth book, our pictures, is out here too. So he _had_ kept it. I'm not that surprised, but I am glad, and I wonder when exactly the fourth book rejoined its mates. Which reminds me that I have my own box, stuffed in a corner of my closet at home, of Noah stuff I couldn't deal with seeing these last few years, and that I should remember to retrieve it when I pack up my room.

Pretty soon I've run out of books to pack, and I rest for a while with a snack from that special Elle-placating junk food stash. I consider making us something for dinner, but the refrigerator turns out to be nearly empty. It occurs to me I have no idea how we're going to split up cooking and laundry and all those other practical details once we move in. We've never actually lived together, not unless you count Noah staying with me most nights of our last summer in Boston. I mean, he's been living on his own for two years, and I basically ran the house while Dad was recovering, so it's not like I'm worried we're incompetent, but it's another of those conversations we probably should have had already. Then again, it's not like talking about who's going to take out the trash would have changed any decisions, so I guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go. Although, if he's going to insist on claiming I live off junk food, I think that makes him responsible for cooking whatever it is he thinks responsible adults eat. I'll, like, do the dishes or something. I'll be sure to inform him of this division of labor... at some point.

I wander through the apartment looking for more books and find another few dozen to pack in the bedroom, then decide I've done enough for the day. Afternoon sun is streaming through the window and I curl up in Noah's bed with the novel I started reading on yesterday's flight, but either it just isn't that interesting or Noah's bed is too comfortable, because suddenly I'm waking up to the sound of him laughing.

"So you slept until just before I picked you up for lunch, ate, and then came back here and napped? You truly are a cat, Shelly."

"Shut up. I'm pregnant and I didn't get enough sleep last night, both of which are your fault."

"I seem to recall you rescheduled your flight for the exact purpose of not getting enough sleep last night," that smug jerk smirks at me.

"Still your fault. And for your information, I packed a crap ton of your books before taking this nap."

"I noticed, actually, and thank you. Do I want to know how you got to the high shelves?"

"Nope."

"Were you planning on hibernating all day, or can we go get dinner?"

"We're going to have to, because your fridge is practically empty."

"You remember I'm moving in a week, right?"

"I not only remember it, I look forward to it. But that doesn't solve today's lack of food."

"The plan was to pick you up at the airport in—" Noah checks his watch—"just about an hour from now, and take you to dinner."

"Yeah, but now we're already home. We could be lazy and order in."

"Elle, how many Friday nights do you think we have left before going out for dinner gets a lot more difficult?"

I hadn't thought of it that way. "You make a terrifying point." I admit.

"That, and it's our last Friday in San Francisco."

"It's also exactly my _second_ Friday in San Francisco, so you'll have to pick the place. Whatever restaurant you'll miss most after leaving."

"The hole in the wall barbecue place by Adam's apartment that serves ribs on newspaper and beer in mason jars?"

"Eww, no. Fine, whatever restaurant you'll miss most that you would take a date to. Wait, strike that. I don't actually have any interest in knowing where you've been on dates. Pick somewhere you haven't taken anyone."

"But there's nowhere left, then."

His innocent smile is obnoxiously smug and I fling a pillow at him with perhaps more force than necessary.

"Yikes, Shelly—I was kidding. I guess this means Adam hasn't mocked my social life to you."

"Oh, he has, in great detail, repeatedly. But you still deserved that for making the joke."

In the end I decide I need Thai food, because I _always_ need Thai food right now, and I pick a place based entirely on its name amusing me. Between Noah's comment about how few easy Friday nights we have left and Adam's earlier reminder that Dinah might not actually wait six more weeks, it's hard not to feel like we're entering some kind of final countdown, but I do my best to ignore the calendar and just enjoy being out together. We've had so much to figure out and discuss and plan for these last few months; we've earned at least one weekend of just relaxing. I'm turning twenty-three on Monday, and somehow the prospect of starting a new year is reassuring. Twenty-two was... an interesting year. Twenty-three seems destined to be as well, but hopefully I can stay on the right side of _interesting_ this time.


	43. Unexpected

**_A/N: Adam found out I let Lee guest-narrate and demanded his own turn, and I am entirely incapable of saying no to Adam._**

 ** _(Adam)_**

Noah Flynn is not what I expected. Two years ago, when we got the list of new hires, I did what everyone does in that situation: I googled the heck out of all of my future coworkers. Gwen Zhang—graduated from Duke, teaching history, coaching the swim teams. An Instagram full of travel pictures and a highly political Twitter feed. Nate Parker—UC San Diego, teaching chemistry. Not at all shy about posting drunken party pics; I'll need to tell him to lock down his accounts before the students start snooping. Noah Flynn—Harvard, assistant football coach, teaching math of all things. Yeah, I'll admit to some prejudices when it comes to football players, especially preppy ones. Flynn proves a little tougher to track down online, but there's a reason why my friends call me when they need a new crush investigated.

Finding Harvard football team pictures isn't hard, and soon enough I find one with a caption mentioning a Flynn, and from there it's child's play figuring out which of the tagged accounts is his. He doesn't post much, especially not recently, and most of what he does post isn't personal. He follows a lot of professional athletes and motorcycle accounts, which isn't discouraging my football player stereotyping any. Scrolling back a year things get more interesting, and a few faces start to repeat, one girl in particular. I'm pretty sure that's the girlfriend, or was, but there are also a lot of pictures of her with another guy. I try to research her, but her account is deactivated. Curious.

I don't usually do this deep a dive into my coworkers' accounts—I'm not, like, some creepy stalker—but I'll admit I'm mildly intrigued and so I scroll further back, and yeah, the girl is everywhere in the older pictures and then disappears after last summer. I do one last search for more recent pictures others have tagged him in and find a mess of party pictures, all with different girls. The pictures aren't as incriminating as Parker's, and Flynn's account was harder to find, but teenagers are pretty wily; I should still give him a heads-up to cover his tracks. And then I move on to googling the next new hire on the list. It was fun proving I could still track down just about anyone, but Noah Flynn doesn't seem all that interesting. Jock who used to have a girlfriend and now shows up at a lot of parties: boring.

Gwen turns out to be just as big of a snoop as I am, but way less subtle about it. A few weeks into the new school year, she demands everyone's info so she can follow all of us, and after that she starts scrolling through our accounts over lunch and pestering us with questions. Flynn has so far confounded my preppy jackass expectations, but he's definitely not a big talker when it comes to anything personal. Gwen manages to get out of him that the girl all over his old pictures is his brother's friend Elle, and that he used to date her, but that's about all he tells us before making it clear he's done answering questions. Which isn't surprising, he does have a girlfriend and this Elle situation looks to be old news. I do wonder if there's something more to the brother angle, given the bitter edge to his voice; getting dumped for his own brother would certainly explain it. Gwen tries again a few weeks later, after Flynn starts telling a story but stops short after mentioning Elle, as though realizing what he'd been about to say, but Flynn shuts her down again.

I do gather clues about Flynn's mystery ex over time, despite his dogged silence. He absolutely doesn't want to be asked about his old pictures, but he also never deletes any. His bitterness about the situation is glaring, yet never once does he say anything bad about her, and when Parker once jokingly refers to her as "that bitch who dumped you," Flynn's eyes are steely as he tells him to shut up. He also hates being addressed as Noah; I don't make the connection on _that_ detail until I come across old posts where friends referred to him as Flynn and Elle and the brother went to town commenting back and forth to each other about who this _Flynn_ is and why people keep posting in _Noah_ 's account about him.

The brother's name, by the way, is Lee; he visits a couple times and he's a good guy. On one of the visits, Gwen and I try to get the story on Elle from him. Yeah, so my initial theory that Flynn got dumped for his brother? Really, really wrong. Comically wrong, given how profoundly weird Lee seems to find it that Flynn fell for their lifelong friend. Although, maybe not that wrong if you eliminate the romance aspect, because from what I gather Lee is still in close touch with Elle while Flynn is very much not. Lee doesn't tell us much about the breakup, but it's clear he's frustrated with whatever's going on. I can't get a read on what Lee wants Flynn to _do_ about it, though. I also feel a little guilty at how quickly the nickname _heartcrusher_ catches on after Lee's visit, but it's not like Flynn ever denies its accuracy, he just flips us off.

Anyway, like I told Elle that first day, Flynn—well, _Noah_ , as she'd rather we call him—suddenly makes a lot more sense after meeting her, as does his behavior this year. But damn did that morning at his apartment feel like stepping into a twilight zone. A twilight zone where the guy who broke up with Megan for wanting to get serious and rarely goes on second dates casually tells me he's moving to LA to be with the pregnant girlfriend he's been in love with for six years, never mind that they've been broken up for the last two and a half of those years and he'd never even mentioned having seen her this fall. But after a few hours with them, the whole absurd situation suddenly seems weirdly plausible. Unsurprising, even.

In retrospect, maybe we should have connected Noah's foul mood after our October long weekend and his bristling all those times we'd tried to ask him about the mystery girl. There aren't that many topics I've seen him get that particular shade of upset about. But Noah was exactly as forthcoming with personal details this fall as ever, and no one felt like dealing with his snappishness more than necessary, so we ignored it and let him be. His mood improved to a more tolerable level by January, although he continued to shrug off attempts to set him up. And we _tried_. I mean, I'd be letting down all my straight single female friends if I didn't at least try. But no, while Noah resumed hanging out with us, he shut down every question about whether he was seeing anyone and why in the hell not.

When Noah told me he had plans that night of the recruiting reception, I knew _something_ was up. And then, once he admitted those plans involved Elle—yes, _that_ Elle—all with a sly grin I'd never seen from him before, I did have an inkling there was a lot more to the story. Still, I didn't exactly imagine the next morning's twilight-zone encounter, let alone that two months later I'd be helping him ring shop. Then again, I also didn't imagine I'd be buying him a parenting book even sooner than that, and those two purchases aren't unrelated. Or at least, not as unrelated as I know Elle would prefer. She's made a few comments lately that have made me wonder how aligned she and he are on this issue. They both look so happy, though, and it's really not a topic I should meddle in. Not that that usually stops me.

Noah's got some last football team event Saturday morning, and on his way there he drops Elle at my place so we can get ready for tonight's party. Not that there's much left to do; it's really just an excuse to hang out. Elle decides we need to bake cookies for the party, and I'm enjoying how relaxed she is today. I've only seen her once since that first weekend—I went down to LA for a conference and managed to squeeze in a dinner with her—but we chat often, and it didn't take me long to understand why Noah fell for her. Before this weekend she's always had this undercurrent of anxiety or hesitation, though, these moments where she seems to remember the bigger picture and need a minute to catch her breath. It's nice seeing her so breezily happy today.

The last tray of cookies finally goes into the oven and we sit down to enjoy a few cookies from the first tray along with a cup of coffee I've been sworn to secrecy about. I need to get Annie to send Elle all those articles she collected about how a second cup of coffee really isn't anything to worry about. How Elle survived finals on her self-imposed single cup a day is a mystery.

"So, you made it." I tell Elle with a smile, lifting my mug to hers in a toast.

"Made it?"

"You're done, you're graduating. And, in a week, Noah will be back in LA for good and I can finally be free of the grumpy moping that starts two days after he's seen you last."

"Definitely tell him that. In those exact words." Elle smirks.

"Now that I know about his punchy history? No thanks. This face is too handsome to risk."

"I can't believe I'm actually done. I can't believe it's already June and I'm here again. It feels like it's been the most excruciatingly slow blink of an eye since I first came up here. The longest and fastest two months ever."

"That makes no sense, but... it also does." I pause to grab another cookie. "Was it really just two months? You were here... that first weekend in April, right? God, I guess that really is just two months."

"It was our belated April Fool's prank for everyone. Except, not actually a prank." Elle comments wryly.

"I did have to convince a few people at Parker's birthday that me telling them to be cool when Flynn showed up with his secret pregnant girlfriend wasn't a joke."

"Thanks for that, again."

"None needed. It was an honor to have my gossip talents recognized and put to use for my new favorite person."

"Me?" Elle grins, and I hate to have to disappoint her.

"Oh, no, sorry— _Noah_ was my new favorite person. I mean, Flynn was a good guy, but this whole new alter ego of his was just fascinating. And hilarious."

Elle laughs, but there's something about the way she's nervously stirring her coffee, staring into it.

"How was he, really?" She finally asks. I'm not sure what she means, and I think she realizes it. "Noah, after he came back from UCLA, I mean. When we first met, you said you knew something was up with him that week."

"That first week, before you visited? He was... I don't know. It's hard to describe. It's like he wasn't listening to us half the time, he was just kind of preoccupied and lost in his own thoughts. But—not necessarily in a bad way. And then by the end of the week, he was just... wired."

"Wired?"

"He was in a good mood, way better than we'd seen him in for a long time, but also... nervous isn't the right word. Maybe on edge. Or restless. And then, man, at that reception, that's when I really knew something was up. He kept checking his phone, and then suddenly he was telling me he had to go with this dopey ass grin on his face."

"Have you been talking to Lee?" Elle laughs.

"Not recently. Why?"

"Lee likes to claim Noah has a _dopey-ass Shelly smile_. I thought maybe you'd gotten it from him." Elle explains.

Ah, _Shelly_. That's the most hilarious part of all this. For as much as Elle glares every time he calls her that, I wonder if she's noticed that it's his biggest tell. He manages to call her Elle most of the time, but the second his heart starts talking faster than his brain can rein it in, out comes _Shelly_. Well, and when he's going out of his way to annoy her, of course. And yeah, Lee is absolutely right, there is definitely a dopey-ass Shelly smile in his repertoire.

"No, no help from Lee needed for me to call that particular expression dopey. Anyway, that's when he admitted _you_ were the mystery girl he had plans with, and between that and how he'd been acting all week, I figured there was going to be more to the story. I just didn't quite expect..." I trail off.

"That I'd be expecting?"

"Yeah, no, that announcement kind of knocked me on my ass."

"Join the club." Elle mutters. She's fussing with her bracelet again. "Did _he_ seem... okay with the news when he told you? I mean, he told you before you got to the apartment, right?"

"Are you kidding me? Elle, the first thing he told me that morning was that he'd been in love with you for six years. Not past tense, present tense."

"Yeah, but—I meant whether he seemed happy about the baby."

"Do you really need to ask?"

Elle shrugs without meeting my eyes, and I realize she really is asking.

"I just... worry sometimes. At how quickly this all happened. How quickly Noah was just—fine with everything. He would have had a lot of reasons to stay angry. Or at least uncertain. Reasons I gave him. I guess sometimes I'm afraid to believe that this is actually working out."

"Look, Elle, all I can tell you is what I saw. And what I heard. And don't you think I asked him how he felt about the news? I'd be a shitty friend if I hadn't. Yeah, he was happy, even that first day. I mean, he also said it was really complicated, but he was happy. And then he made it clear if I said anything to freak you out and derail this he'd kill me."

"Anything to freak me out?" Elle looks confused, but before I can say anything she suddenly shakes her head. "He told you not to mention anything like moving in or getting married, didn't he? Because he thought that would freak me out. That's what you meant, right?"

Lying doesn't seem like the best idea, even if telling the truth has its own risks. "Yeah, kind of."

Elle frowns, then shrugs it off.

"I guess that was fair. I probably _would_ have. I mean, not freaked out and run away or anything, but I didn't need extra people asking the questions I was already torturing myself with."

"Are you still? Torturing yourself with those questions, I mean."

Elle looks at me, not responding. Finally she laughs a little.

"I think this might be one of those times when Noah and I shouldn't share confidantes. Because that's a question I should be discussing with Noah. Or maybe with Mickey. But not with... his friends."

I realize how the question must have come across. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. It's not the _answers_ to those questions I was looking to find out, just how you were feeling about the questions. I was hoping you were feeling... more settled. Less tortured. That whatever it is you're thinking, the topic isn't stressing you out."

"Oh. Yeah. It's fine. I'm fine. People seem to have quit joking about shotgun weddings; I guess with the date so close they've given up on us. So that's a relief. And the moving in part, well, I'm sure that will take some getting used to, but I've never doubted it's what I want. At least, not this spring."

"I'm glad. That's really all I meant to ask, to make sure you weren't still feeling freaked out."

Elle looks like she's trying to make up her mind about something. I watch her dunk a cookie into her coffee, and I laugh as it falls apart and she scrambles to fish the pieces out before they turn to mush.

"Did Noah tell you much about October?" Her cookie mishaps might have distracted me, but Elle hasn't moved on from our earlier topic.

"He told me... some of it. Not the racy details, if that's what you're worried about." I joke.

Elle blushes, then shakes her head. "Yeah, no, not what I was asking, but I'm glad to hear that. I meant whether he'd told you about my freakout. About how everything went wrong."

"A little. He said he rushed you and you got overwhelmed. And he seemed pretty damn mad at himself about it."

"Overwhelmed is one way to put it. I... completely overreacted and panicked."

"Noah mentioned you had a lot going on, more than he understood in the moment. And that probably you two should have actually talked about the first breakup before jumping back in."

Elle snorts at that a little. "That sound you just heard? That was Lee all the way back in Boston, screaming _I told you so_. And that one wasn't the first breakup, for the record."

"Ah, right. I did know that, it's just a complicated story to keep track of." I'm grinning, but given her pained expression my attempt to lighten the mood seems to have fallen flat. "Sorry. That wasn't actually funny, was it?"

"Not so much. But don't sweat it, it's not your fault we're idiots. Anyway, if there's anything good that came out of that disaster it was realizing I had a lot of crap I needed to deal with. So I'm actually doing a lot better on the whole freaking out front, now. Or at least less terribly than before."

"That and Dinah, right?"

"Dinah?"

"She's something good that came out of that disaster."

"Oh—I meant disaster as in the freakout and the fight. The rest of the weekend, before I freaked out, definitely not a disaster. Although it did, uh, bring its own set of challenges. I wasn't really planning to be gigantically pregnant at graduation. But I also wasn't expecting Noah to be there, so it all kind of balances out."

"Yes, _gigantically_." I roll my eyes at her.

"Eight nieces and nephews and you haven't learned not to contradict a pregnant woman?"

"My apologies. Yes, you're gigantic. Gargantuan, even. But anyway, I'm glad to hear things are less overwhelming. It's nice seeing you both chilled out, finally."

"Yeah, a whopping six weeks of relaxation before everything goes haywire."

" _Maybe_ six weeks. Could be shorter."

"If you jinx me, I'm going to kill you."

"You both keep threatening to kill me for various offenses, but you'd miss me too much."

"That's how Lee's survived this long. You should compare notes."

* * *

Noah returns around noon and I say no to joining them for lunch. As much as I like them both, they don't need a third wheel right now, nor is that actually my favorite role. I should ask Lee for tips on that, too. And, anyway, I do have a life of my own to tend to this afternoon before everyone invades my apartment.

I've been jokingly referring to tonight as a combination drunken baby shower and farewell party, but really it's just our usual weekend hangout with a guest list broadened to include Noah's nearby Harvard friends. Gwen and a few others do show up with baby gifts, and it's kind of weird to think that pretty soon those tiny clothes will be on an actual person. I mean, not that babies are weird; I'm more than familiar with the concept after three nieces and five nephews. But a baby that Noah is responsible for, both literally and figuratively speaking? Now, that's an entertaining and mildly terrifying thing to ponder.

Speaking of, I return from grabbing more drinks from the kitchen to find him leaning against a wall, watching Elle hold court on my couch. We'll miss him, but somehow I don't think he's remotely sad to leave. Sometimes I wonder if his whole reason for taking this job was to bide his time at a safe distance from LA until he figured out what to do about Elle.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask Noah, tipping my head in Elle's direction.

"The plan?"

"For that ring I helped you buy."

Noah smirks, but doesn't actually answer.

"I don't see her wearing it, and despite your track record for keeping secrets, I would hope you'd have mentioned an engagement. And I know _she_ would."

"You'll be the first to know when it happens, I promise. Well, after Lee. And our parents. And Mickey. And her brother. But a solid seventh to know." Noah chuckles.

"So Lee before your parents?" I can't help asking.

"You have _met_ the two of them, right? Actually, I guess you haven't, not together at least. But yeah, my money's on Elle's first call being Lee. It always is." He says it in a vaguely sardonic tone.

"And you're... okay with that?" Their whole triangle is still rather a mystery to me.

"As long as the reason he's the first call is that there's no need to call me because I'm there with her, yeah."

"And so the plan is to always be there with her?"

"You could say that."

"Oh _come on_. Just tell me what the plan is. I know you, you must have a plan."

"If you know me, then you also know I'm not going to tell you." He has a point, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating.

"Seriously? Can you at least confirm there _is_ a plan?"

"Nope."

"On her birthday? Next weekend at the graduation party? The summer solstice? July 4th, with fireworks? Some other occasion before this baby shows up? At the birth? Gotta tell you, that one seems risky for her being fond of you right then."

"The _solstice_? I hadn't thought of that one, but sure, I'll add it to the list, and I'll definitely let you know if I decide to go in that direction. _Afterward_."

"Fine, be that way. But you're going to, right?"

"I told you. Seventh to know, guaranteed."

"Jackass."

I give up then. I've had to revise a lot of my initial assumptions about Noah Flynn, but I guess his tendency to play things close to the vest hasn't changed. Still, he's not what I expected when I saw him on that list two years ago, and definitely for the better. He might not miss us, but we'll miss him. And I'm hoping I can convince him to give me some of those million frequent flyer miles he racked up this spring, because I'm going to need to get to LA to witness him wrangling an infant. But yeah, Noah Flynn? Not what I expected.


	44. Celebrations

**_(Noah)_**

Adam and I are in the middle of an argument about the NBA draft when Gwen walks up and puts a hand on my arm to get my attention.

"Don't be alarmed, but —" Gwen glances to her left, discreetly tipping her head in that direction. I turn my head just enough to see what she's talking about. Elle's there, animatedly talking and laughing with—ah. Megan. So that's what Gwen meant, and that's why she looks concerned.

"Megan knows who she is, right?"

"Yeah, she saw Elle at the party the last time she was here."

"And Elle knows who she is? I mean, that you two —" Gwen looks so serious saying it that I have to laugh.

"Yes. Elle knows, Megan knows, Elle knows Megan knows, Megan knows Elle knows. I appreciate the heads-up, but it's fine. I talked to Megan last time."

"I mean, they look pretty chummy." Gwen comments.

"Should I be taking that as a bad sign?" I'm not actually worried about them talking, and I'm not sure what I'd do about it even if I were. We established long ago that telling Elle what to do, or whom to talk to, is a bad idea. And I'm not surprised they're getting along; everyone loves Elle, and it's not like Megan's a jerk either.

"I don't know. It's just a little weird." Gwen persists.

"What's a little weird?" My friend Matt appears with a familiar-looking girl at his side. Matt played football with me at Harvard and is in med school here now, but I can't quite place the girl.

"Matt, hey. This is Gwen, from work. And I know we've met, but I'm blanking on your name, I'm sorry," I greet the new arrivals.

"Heather Nichols. We had Econ together junior year, and I lived next door to your friend Justin."

Right. Now I'm remembering. We hung out a few times.

"Heather just moved here and we ran into each other last week, I figured you wouldn't mind if she tagged along tonight. So, what's a little weird?" Matt asks.

I roll my eyes. "Nothing's a little weird. Gwen here was just alerting me to the entirely non-alarming fact that my girlfriend is talking to my ex."

" _I_ still think it's a little weird they're getting along that well." Gwen protests.

Heather glances back where Gwen is staring, then pivots back to me in shock.

"Elle's here? And she knows that's your girlfriend?"

Of _course_ Heather remembers Elle. Everyone does. But there seems to be a bit of confusion about the situation.

"Ah, no. I mean, Elle knows who that is. But Elle is the one talking to my ex. Not the other way around."

"But didn't you —" Heather grimaces slightly.

"Split? Yeah. But then we worked things out."

"Wait —" Heather turns her head to stare at Elle again, not even trying to be subtle about it now, then back at me, then back for an even longer look at Elle, understanding slowly dawning on her face.

"Matt mentioned tonight was some kind of baby shower as well as a farewell party... I assumed for different people."

"Nope. Both for me. Well, and for Elle." I don't know why Elle dreaded breaking the news to everyone, because it's been entertaining every time.

"So, you and Elle are back together and shacked up and having a baby? Wait, are you _married_?"

Not in that order and not quite all of those, but close enough. "Not that last part. But the rest, yeah."

"Why didn't I know this? _Matt_ , why didn't you tell me?"

"I figured you knew. I mean, I _told_ you this was a baby shower, too. And, I don't know, I didn't realize it was that newsworthy." Matt shrugs.

"Oh my god, _boys_. You have no appreciation for gossip." Heather turns back to me. "Okay, I'm fixing this right now. Who did you tell? Did you post an announcement? No, of course not. You never post anything. Or tell anyone anything."

"I told the people I talk to. And I figured they'd tell anyone else who would care. You realize this isn't just _gossip_ , right?"

I really did think most of my Harvard crowd knew by now, even the ones I haven't talked to recently. Natalie alone probably told half of them after Elle and I took her to dinner to thank her for getting me that interview, but I guess not everyone.

"Fine. Fiiiiiiiine. But can I _please_ just let everyone know? I liked Elle. We all did. And we liked you, especially when you were with her. So I think you'd be surprised how many people will be glad to hear this even if they haven't talked to you since graduation."

Speaking of Elle, she finally notices Heather and Gwen's incredibly obvious staring and walks over to us. I shouldn't be surprised that Elle remembers Heather's name right off the bat, and once the three of them are chatting, Heather eager to get all the details I've apparently so cruelly withheld from her, I go find Adam again.

"Did you find out what they were talking about?"

"Elle and Megan? Nope."

"Aren't you a little curious?"

"I'm not surprised they got along, and I can't see what either of them could tell the other that would make them mad. And Elle will probably tell me all about it later. But I don't actually need to know."

"Oh, come on. You don't have a regrettable tattoo hidden somewhere they could have been making fun of together? Incredibly embarrassing habits they could compare notes on?"

"I guess you'll have to ask Elle."

"Well, now I definitely will. And you know she'll tell me."

Again, I frequently question the wisdom of having introduced Elle to Adam.

* * *

We spend most of Sunday packing. I keep telling Elle she doesn't need to help, that anything I don't get done the movers can finish, but she's in one of her moods where the mere suggestion that she take things easy makes her throw herself into the task with even more fervor. By mid-afternoon we've gotten an astonishing amount accomplished and I manage to convince Elle we're done for the day. Given her sigh of contentment as she stretches out on the couch afterward, it was definitely time to get her to stop.

"I know you pointed out we don't have a lot of childfree evenings out left, but can we just stay in and be lazy tonight?" Elle asks.

"Can we compromise? Be lazy for a while now, order dinner in, but there _is_ somewhere I wanted to go with you tonight."

"Where?"

"Somewhere you'll like."

" _Where?_ "

"Nope. It's a surprise. But they do have ice cream."

"You're infuriating."

Infuriated or not, Elle's definitely exhausted, because she's asleep on the couch by the time I get back from a run to the store for more packing supplies. Elle flies home Tuesday, on Wednesday afternoon the movers show up, and by Thursday afternoon I'm on a plane to LA. Friday is the last day of classes here, but it's also Elle's graduation, so I'm cutting out a day early. And then, on Saturday, Elle and Lee's joint graduation and birthday party. A busy week for sure, so Elle is right we could use a lazy evening... but there _is_ somewhere I want to take her. At least she's getting a nap.

By the time Elle wakes up, dinner has been delivered and her grumpiness at not being consulted about the order turns to delight once she sees I got her lasagna. It's like she forgets both how predictable she is and how long I've known her. The nap clearly helped as she's back to chattering a mile a minute, bugging me about where it is we're going after dinner right up until we park outside.

"An arcade? Were you hoping to take advantage of my present condition to beat me at DDR? Because I promise you that even this pregnant I can still destroy you."

"Nope, and your thinly-veiled attempts to goad me into playing never have worked and never will. Besides, I made sure this place was free of such machines."

"So why are we here?"

"Because what this arcade _does_ have is the original Simpsons pinball."

Elle's eyes light up, and any fear I'd had that she might have forgotten evaporates. Our parents weren't thrilled about Elle and Lee taking the bus to the arcade alone at first, and I had to do _something_ to entertain myself all those times I was made to accompany them. I got rather good at several of the games there, but it was the Simpsons pinball machine I gravitated to because Elle loved that one too, which meant she'd almost always come over and challenge me when she needed a rest from dancing.

"Oh my god. I haven't played this in years, but I bet I can still crush you."

"Elle, I beat you like ninety percent of the time." I laugh.

"No! As if! I beat you plenty of times."

"Yes. You won precisely sixty-five times, and I won the other two hundred and three."

"You can't possibly remember that. You just made those numbers up."

"Oh, Shelly, so little faith. Would I ever lie about something as important as Simpsons pinball? Here, take a look if you don't believe me."

Elle takes the phone I'm holding out to her, her skeptical air turning outraged when she sees the screen.

"You kept a _log_?"

"That summer Mom made me take you guys to the arcade all the time was also the summer I got a cell phone; I thought being able to take notes in it was cool. And now it's all paying off."

"And you've kept this ridiculous log all this time? Moving it from phone to phone? A constant reminder of what a petty bad sport you are?"

"Well, I was thinking of it more as a reminder of all that time we spent together... but sure, we can go with your version."

"Unbelievable. Whatever, sixty-five to two hundred and three isn't you winning ninety percent of the time, it's barely three quarters."

"The numbers are skewed, Einstein. The last few dozen don't count."

"Really, why?"

"Because once we were dating I usually let you win."

And apparently I'm going to need to let her win again tonight, judging from the glare I'm getting. Which is fine, because I'd mostly wanted to watch her play. Her ridiculous agitation and trash talking when she plays video games? Yeah, she perfected that over years of trying to deal with how much better I was at this game.

A couple of hours, many quarters, and an enormous sundae later, Elle admits her thumbs are sore and concedes defeat. I did _try_ to let her win, but she caught on and yelled at me to play for real, then got even madder once I did. She calls _me_ a bad sport, but hell hath no fury like a Shelly trounced at Simpsons pinball.

"Come on, almost-birthday girl. Let's get you home before it's actually your birthday."

"Was this my present? The arcade outing?"

"No, this was a present to myself. Your present, you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"And what _are_ we doing tomorrow?"

"Something you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out."

"A little hint? Please?"

I shake my head. "That's not how surprises work, Shelly."

"But there is a plan, right? And presents?"

"Probably. I think so, but I seem to have forgotten. I'm sure I'll remember by tomorrow, though."

"Have I already told you you're infuriating today?"

"Pretty sure."

* * *

There is, in fact, a plan for Elle's birthday, and one I spent way too much time debating before telling myself not to overthink. My track record with Elle's birthdays has been uneven, to say the least. The early ones I don't remember in great detail; she and Lee always wanted something ridiculous for their party and they almost always got it. I would usually escape to my room and my video games once their friends got too annoying, and reappear only for the cake. The last half dozen or so birthdays have been more memorable, though, for reasons both good and bad.

Elle's sixteenth birthday, when she walked into their party in a shimmery blue dress and it suddenly hit me exactly how pretty she was. I'd realized by then that I really didn't mind Elle constantly hanging around the house, but I hadn't quite thought through _why_ yet. Nor did I particularly want to think it through, which is why I spent most of that party making out with some girl Tuppen had invited along.

Elle's seventeenth birthday—that one started disastrously but ended excellently, and thus that one goes down in the books as a win. I'd already delayed my departure for Boston a day to get one last chance to see her, even if I was trying to give her the space she'd asked for. I don't know what it was she told Lee at their party, but when he came to tell me I had to go talk to her, I wasn't going to stop and worry about how conflicted he looked about it. Of all our anniversaries, Elle seems to care most about this one. At least, before this year she did; it remains to be seen if she'll declare one of our more recent milestones more important.

Elle's eighteenth birthday—probably the worst. Our breakup was barely ten days old and we hadn't spoken since. I'm not proud to admit I flat out bailed on this one. I wished Lee a terse happy birthday in the morning, then drove to San Diego to see some Harvard friends. I don't recall if Lee even acknowledged those birthday wishes or just glared at me as he'd been doing for the past ten days.

Elle's nineteenth birthday—a great one. She and Lee planned a huge party that year since it was also the first opportunity many in their class had to see each other again after their first year of college. A fun birthday, but also a blessedly uneventful one from my point of view; we'd made it through a year in Boston together and things were great. I took Elle to dinner before her party and we mock argued about whether it still counted as our second anniversary given last summer's ridiculous breakup. Even with that, it seemed crazy that it had already been two years. Well over two years if we counted from that first kiss, which I always have.

Elle's twentieth birthday—possibly the best one yet. I don't remember much about the party other than both of us being so jetlagged that we'd fallen asleep on a couch despite all the music and people around us, but I do remember our ride to Santa Barbara the next day to celebrate our third anniversary. We weren't teenagers anymore, and for some reason that transition felt meaningful, like this wasn't a high school thing, like it wasn't ridiculous to think this could be a forever thing.

Elle's twenty-first birthday—back to terrible. Well, maybe she had a good time, but I wouldn't know because I was already in San Francisco. If I'd been less of a bullheaded idiot I'd have called her, or better yet shown up, but I wasn't, and I was still mad she hadn't shown at my graduation party a week earlier. So I texted Lee to wish him a happy birthday and spent the day finishing unpacking. Ironic that that would be the day I opened the box with those photo albums Elle made. I shoved them into a desk drawer and tried to forget about them. A few months later I came across them again and decided hiding from pictures was pathetic; the albums went into my book shelves. Well, not all of them. The one that was just ours stayed out of sight, because I'm not a masochist. That, and my new friends were nosy enough as it was, no need to give them a whole new source of unwelcome questions.

Elle's twenty-second birthday—maybe slightly less terrible than the last, but only by comparison. I didn't have to come up with an excuse for skipping Lee's party that year because there wasn't one; instead, he and Elle went to New York with friends. I asked Lee to wish her a happy birthday when I texted him, and his only response was that her number hadn't changed. I should have called, and I almost did, not that _almost_ counts for anything.

Which brings us to tomorrow, Elle's twenty-third birthday. The party isn't until next weekend, but I want to celebrate her actual birthday on the day itself. I struggled a while with _how_ to celebrate, which is always a challenge with Elle. She loves a grand gesture, but she hates admitting it, so the difficulty is finding something as romantic as possible without crossing over into cheesy. It's also the last birthday we'll celebrate without a kid in the picture, which seems like its own kind of milestone.

I considered taking Elle on a tour of my favorite local landmarks, all the places we'd have gone if we'd stopped being idiots sooner, or doing something to acknowledge each of the birthdays I missed. In the end, though, I don't want to attempt any kind of do-over; there's no point trying to run from the reality of the last couple years. I decide to stop overthinking and just pick something I know she'll enjoy, regardless of whether it's exactly right or not. At least the gift was an easy decision, that one I've had figured out for a while.

* * *

Either Elle has forgotten it's her birthday or she's _really_ sleepy, as it takes a good minute of shaking her shoulder increasingly forcefully and then finally stealing her covers to wake her up, and she doesn't look pleased about it.

" _What?_ "

"Breakfast time."

" _You_ have to go to work. I don't." Elle tries her usual grumpy roll away, but it's a lot less effective these days with a belly in the way.

"You're going to want to get up. There's coffee. And cake."

"Cake?" Now Elle opens one eye, peering at me suspiciously.

"Yes, cake. Birthday cake, dork."

Now her eyes snap open.

"Holy crap, I forgot. Okay, yes, cake. I'll definitely get up for cake. And presents, right? There are presents?"

Elle is up and out of bed instantly, and I'm glad I thought to get a cake for this morning. Baking's not my thing, but when I asked Adam where to buy a cake he offered to make one for me, especially after I told him what I was looking for. There is only one kind of birthday cake, according to Elle, and it's funfetti cake, slathered in frosting, covered in more sprinkles. And not a nice cake from scratch. No, it has to be a box mix cake, store-bought frosting, and the most artificially colored sprinkles possible; exactly the same as what she and Lee first baked themselves at the age of six. The rest of the year she has fancier tastes, but for her birthday it has to be funfetti.

"You _made_ this?" Elle looks delighted. The cake does look unmistakably... well, homemade would be the tactful way to put it.

"Not quite. Adam did, after telling me no self-respecting bakery would be willing to provide a cake meeting your requirements."

"Hush. This is what birthdays taste like. And at least wait until I've served you a slice before you insult my cake. Now I'm not sharing."

"I have the coffees. I'm pretty sure you'll agree to a trade."

Her cake is exactly as painfully sweet as I remember it, which means she declares it perfect and even pauses between slices to send Adam an effusive thank you.

"Sooooo, presents? There are presents, right?" Elle looks at me with hopeful eyes.

"The real present I figured would wait until dinner tonight. But, before you start giving me that murderous look, I do have something. And there's a present from my mom, too, which definitely needs to get opened this morning."

The _something_ is mostly a joke, but a traditional one. The first time it occurred to me I should get Elle a birthday present of my own was when I was eleven, and my best guess back then of what she'd want was candy, so I'd bought her a giant bag of peanut M&Ms. She demanded the same every year afterward, and this time I've found the largest bag yet, a five pound beast I had to order online.

My mom's present is no joke, though. She's booked Elle a prenatal spa day at a hotel downtown, which is another reason why I needed to get her out of bed this morning rather than letting her sleep til noon. There are massages involved and a pedicure and I'm not even sure what some of the listed services are, but Elle seems to and looks thrilled.

"Noah, this is ridiculous. This is too much."

"Do you want to call my mom and tell her that?"

"No, of course not, I know there's no point. I just felt the need to say it, for the record. That this is ridiculous."

"You're her favorite, and now you're providing a grandchild. This is reasonable and restrained, given that."

* * *

Elle was supposed to be done by four, but when I come pick her up after leaving work the spa staff informs me that she fell asleep in one of their lounges and that they feel bad waking her up. Which I do too, even if I do plan on teasing her for this. I settle in to wait with a book, and an hour later Elle finally emerges.

"I'm not even going to apologize for making you wait. Oh my god, that was the most comfortable recliner I have ever sat in. And there was a fountain gurgling. And they gave me the softest blanket. And all day they kept bringing me fresh cups of tea and cookies. And juice. I take back everything I said about this being ridiculous, this was amazing and I want to live here now."

"Don't say that around my mom unless you actually want her to make it happen, because you know she would. And I'd rather you not move in here, since I'll be in LA and I'd been hoping you'd be there too."

"Maybe your mom would buy me that recliner for our place. And the blanket. And the fountain."

"Again, don't say that unless you're serious. I really think you underestimate her lack of restraint when it comes to you. Now, you ready for a drive?"

I can tell Elle is scanning the parking lot for my car when we step outside, and she gives me a quizzical look when she sees where I'm headed.

"That's not yours, is it? Or have you been holding out on me this whole time?"

 _That_ is a mint condition MG convertible, and no, it's not mine.

"Sorry to disappoint—it's on loan from a friend. A friend who made me promise my firstborn if anything happened to _his_ baby, so try not to be too distracting while I drive." Not that she's ever not distracting.

"Don't tell Lee, but this is the coolest car ever. Is my present that I get to drive it, too?"

"Ah, no. Alan needs at least a year before he trusts anyone with this car, and he hasn't even met you yet. But since you're not getting anywhere near a motorcycle right now, I thought this might be a decent substitute for a birthday ride up the coast. You haven't even been outside the city yet."

"We could come back to visit, you know. This isn't our last chance."

"Oh, we will; I've already promised people at work we would. But do I actually need a reason to take you on an adventure? And besides, you'd get cranky if you had to walk to where we're having dinner."

Elle had loved our trips across the bay on her last visit, which is why I'd decided on this drive and the restaurant it's taking us to. After crossing the Golden Gate bridge, we follow the Pacific Coast Highway north through the national park areas and up the coast before finally arriving at our destination. I haven't been here before, but Gwen promised this was the place to go if I wanted an ocean view, and she wasn't lying. As irritating as her over-interest in everyone's personal life can get, sh _e is_ a useful resource.

Once I'd decided to stop overthinking what to do for Elle's birthday and just pick something fun, a scenic drive and an oceanside dinner had been an easy choice. I even convinced the restaurant to give us the deck overlooking the ocean to ourselves, so other than our waiter's occasional appearances it's just us, the waves, and the slowly setting sun, and Elle is as relaxed as I've seen her all spring.

"Alright. Presents. I was told there would be a birthday present at dinner, and I know you're not foolish enough for that to have been a lie." Relaxed, but still laser focused on her priorities.

"What, you don't want to wait for dessert?" Yeah, I know she doesn't, but I also like driving her nuts. "Kidding, Elle. Here."

The envelope I hand her is thin and nondescript, but she tears into it with curiosity. The card inside is just a normal birthday card, but it's once Elle opens it that she looks at me in confusion, then back at the card, unfolding the torn-out notebook page tucked inside and suddenly recognizing it.

"You kept this?" She finally asks, her voice a little rough.

"Of course. I mean, of course at the time I kept it. And then I found it again this spring."

One bitterly cold weekend of my junior year, Elle insisted on coming over even though a blizzard had just dumped a good two feet of snow. She made it to the subway, but got caught in a windy burst of freezing rain on her way from Harvard Square to my dorm. She showed up half frozen and ranting about how much she hated Boston winters, and she kept on complaining even after I got her into a warm shower and dry clothes. As usual when the weather was this cold, she grumbled about transferring somewhere warmer, and finally I told her that if she could manage to survive long enough to graduate, we'd go sit on a tropical beach until all memory of Boston winters had been burned away. Of course, never make Elle an offer you aren't prepared to back up, because she latched on to the idea immediately and wrote out a whole itinerary for us. Even if I'd tossed the idea out without giving it much thought, it was definitely an appealing one, and we spent a lot of time that winter talking about that graduation trip. When I found Elle's itinerary notes this spring, tucked into that photo album she'd made me, I decided we were finally going to get our trip.

"I know we can't go right after your graduation like we'd planned, but I figure sometime next year we'll be ready. Maybe we'll bring a babysitter with us. Or leave Dinah with my mom. We can figure that all out later. But you pick the island and we'll go."

"I didn't make good on our deal, though. I mean, I didn't stick it out through the Boston winters."

"Seriously? It wasn't the snow that made you transfer. You've still more than earned your tropical escape."

Elle stares at the note with a pensive look another minute, then laughs softly.

"What?" I ask.

"Just... we spent so much time talking about this trip, but I never thought to include babysitting in the planning."

"Things that turn out exactly as planned are boring."

Elle rolls her eyes at me. "Is that from your inspirational quote page-a-day calendar?"

"Too cheesy?" I laugh. I hadn't meant it to sound that trite, I was just trying to steer Elle away from another conversation about having done this all out of order.

"By far. But also accurate."

"You're not mad your present is something I'd already promised you, are you?"

"Are you kidding? This is amazing. And perfect. As is knowing you kept that note."

The sun is starting to disappear into the ocean and I watch Elle watch the sunset, enjoying how transfixed she is. For a moment I regret not having brought the ring along, but only briefly. The coming week will be hectic enough without that kind of decision and the reactions it would elicit, and I'd rather let tonight be just a birthday, just about Elle and not about us. It's not the most momentous or dramatic of her birthdays, but it's definitely one of the great ones.


	45. Relief

**_A/N: Couldn't resist a brief time-jump back to_ _Adam's_ _party; apologies for any timeline confusion._**

 ** _(Elle)_**

Noah's ex is giving me child rearing advice and there is no part of that sentence that would have made sense a year ago. I'm not actually sure it makes any sense today either, and yet here we are. Megan's really nice, and her stories about the summer she was a nanny for twins are hilarious and terrifying, but it's still just a little... weird. I know Noah said she'd seemed fine about everything when they talked at the last party, and I know they were long over before he reappeared in my life, but still. Weird.

Maybe part of the reason it's weird is that I've never had to do this before, to talk to someone Noah's been in an actual relationship with. Girls he's made out with? Sure. I've personally witnessed him kissing more of my high school classmates than I care to count, and I long ago blocked from memory which ones he did more than kiss. But that was different. The running joke then was that he'd never been on a second date, and while that might have been an exaggeration, it wasn't too far off. June claims he was trying to distract himself from his feelings for me, but I prefer to just... not think about it.

From what Abbi told me and comments Lee made, it sounds like Noah went back to those habits his last semester at Harvard, but he still never had an actual girlfriend then. Finding that out would have hurt more. A lot more, and that's why I'm glad I didn't know about Megan while it was going on. Even if Lee and Adam have both told me it never seemed serious, even if Noah himself has told me _I_ 'm why it never got serious, it was still clearly a lot more than a hookup. More than my own occasional forays into dating at UCLA. For some short while, Noah was a little bit hers and that is not a pleasant thought at all.

And maybe that's the problem. Maybe I should admit that the very idea of Noah not being entirely mine, the idea that he was ever anyone else's, drives me crazy. Maybe that's why a very small but very loud part of my brain keeps looking for excuses to dislike Megan. Which is ridiculous, because she seems cool and she's been nothing but friendly to me. I tell myself to get over it, and after a few minutes it starts to work and I relax. I discover she rowed crew in college, and that she's got a little sister about Brad's age, and those are both safer topics, topics that don't force me to acknowledge that I absolutely cannot think of Noah as anything but mine. Now, then, and all the times in between, even when we weren't speaking. Because if I admit that, then I have to ask myself why I'm so reluctant to say so formally. And _that_ is not a question I feel like addressing tonight.

* * *

I've got a message from Dad waiting when my flight home to LA lands, cryptically telling me to look out for balloons. It's _too_ cryptic, because I write it off as some incomprehensible Dad joke and head off to grab a cab before hearing my name yelled. There he is, holding a clutch of birthday balloons and a sign I'm pretty sure Brad made.

" _Dad_? What are you doing here?"

"Did you not get my message?"

"Yeah, but... I thought it was one of your weird dad jokes." I admit.

"You didn't think _look out for balloons_ meant you should look out for balloons?"

"Not really, no. That's not a thing people say. If you'd said _Don't get in a cab, I'm here to pick you up_ , that would have been, you know, clearer."

"You used to enjoy surprises. Did you turn boring the minute you turned twenty-three?"

"Yes. Is this what getting old feels like? Is this how you got so stodgy?"

"No, it's parenthood that does that, and I can't wait until you've got your own smart-mouthed daughter to deal with."

"Don't kids rebel by being the opposite of their parents? So we should be good. She'll be super reasonable and always respectful of authority."

"Just so you know, I'm writing all these predictions of yours down to read back to you in a decade."

"So why _are_ you picking me up?"

"I'm taking you out for a birthday lunch. Brad's at school, and it's been forever since you and I had time to ourselves."

Dad has gotten us a reservation at one of our old favorite restaurants and I don't have the heart to tell him I'm not terribly hungry, but I think he notices when I only order an appetizer.

"Has Dinah finally gotten so big there's no room left for your stomach?"

"Not quite, but... Noah took me to dinner for my birthday and I may have overdone it. And there might have been leftover cake for breakfast. And on the plane." I admit.

"Hence the uncharacteristic small salad?" Dad laughs as I nod sheepishly. "Where did you go, last night?"

"Oh, it was amazing. It was right on the beach, an hour out of the city, and when I told them I couldn't decide what to order they made me small plates of everything I wanted. Including dessert. And Noah somehow got us the outdoor deck to ourselves, so no one was bothering us, and he borrowed his friend's ridiculous convertible for the drive."

"Mmmhmmm. Sounds very... romantic."

The way Dad says it makes me a little suspicious.

"You say that like it's a bad thing?" I ask.

"Oh, no. Not at all. I was just curious what you might have talked about, at this romantic and carefully planned-out dinner."

Of course. Dad may keep telling me he doesn't expect us to have it all figured out or to make any decisions yet, except... he clearly would like it if we did.

"Yes, Dad. Elaborately planned out _for my birthday_. Which is also what we talked about."

"Mmmhmmm. Anything else?"

"Nope. Nothing else. Why, was there something else we should have been talking about?" I ask him with my best innocent expression.

"Let's not pretend we don't both know what we're talking about."

"What happened to you just needing to know we're talking and figuring this out together?"

"Nothing's changed with that, Elle. But from what I've seen over the past few months, you _have_ figured this out. And I'm glad for it. Thrilled."

Noah's joined us for Sunday lunches several times this spring, and don't think I didn't notice Dad always watching us, always listening even while pretending to be busy with something else.

"When did you become Noah's biggest fan?" I joke.

"Well, once I realized I'd be dealing with him forever, I had to find the silver linings to the situation."

His tone isn't serious, but something about the phrasing stings.

"You don't have to like him just because of this baby."

Dad's burst of laughter is sharp and surprised. "Elle, honey, I wasn't talking about this year. I meant years ago. I thought you knew that."

"Oh. I guess I did know that, back then at least. But then we made a mess of things."

Dad stares at me for a long time before speaking again.

"You never told me what happened after my accident. Why you and Noah broke up. I never understood it, and you never wanted to talk about it. And I'm sorry if I wasn't thinking straight enough back then to notice what was going on until it was too late."

"It's ancient history, Dad. Noah wanted to stay, to drop out too. I didn't want him to. He was mad I didn't want him to. We didn't listen, we overreacted, and it was all so stupid. So, so stupid. I see that now. But I don't really want to dig it all up again."

"But you've talked about it? The two of you?"

"Yeah. I promise. Noah and I have talked about it, a lot, and I've talked to Joyce about it." Joyce is my therapist. I haven't told Dad all the reasons why I first went to her, but he knows most of it.

"Then I don't need to know more. All I was trying to say was that you two convinced me a while ago. Long before this year, and even long before my accident. And this year has only confirmed that for me, so I was hoping it might have convinced you two as well."

"I know what you were asking about, earlier. But marriage just isn't something we've talked about. You were right when you said not to worry about having a plan for everything. We're figuring this out as we go, and what we have is working. Everything else... I'll worry about later. After we survive this whole baby thing."

"Elle... you know it's not just about you two, right? I hate to be the one nagging about unromantic things like custody and finances and insurance, but it's my job as a parent. Soon it will be your job, too. There's a lot of planning to be done, especially if you aren't going to be married when she's born."

"Dad—I know. We know. Figuring all that out is my entire plan for the next few weeks. I didn't mean we'd never talk about it. We will, I promise. Just... not this minute. Noah isn't even in LA yet. This whole week is going to be crazy. Right now we just need to breathe."

"Alright, I've said my piece. And I trust you, both of you. But don't overthink it, either."

We move on from there. We talk about the schedule for graduation, and when I need to be out of my campus housing; we talk about the work I'll be doing for my advisor, about Noah managing to push his start date to late August, about what Mickey will be doing next year. It's while Dad is telling me about some trouble Brad got himself into at school that it hits me, not for the first time, that I'm not moving home, and I can't hold back a sudden rush of tears.

"Elle? I know it's not Brad getting detention that has you this upset." Dad looks mildly concerned.

I laugh despite the tears. "No, it's just hitting me all over again how much I'm going to miss him. And you. And living with you guys."

"Now I know this is pregnancy crying and not real sadness. Elle, you already weren't living with us, and your new apartment is even closer to the house than your dorm was. And please don't make me remind you how fond you are of your new roommate. Because don't think I haven't noticed how conveniently this baby thing has given you the perfect excuse to move in together without your parents being able to object."

Now I'm really laughing. "Yeah, that was our whole secret scheme. To have a baby to distract you guys from our shacking up." Our extremely intentional, not at all accidental, genius plan.

Dad's right, though. Not that he and the Flynns harbor any illusions about the likelihood we'd ever spend a night apart when in the same city, but if not for Dinah, I'm pretty sure we'd have been sat down for conversations about not rushing to move in, not rushing to make big decisions after only a few months back together. But now, instead, I'm getting nagged to hurry up and make this official. It would be funnier if it weren't exactly why this whole topic makes me crazy. Why should having stumbled into this surprise make rushing a good idea when it wouldn't have been otherwise? What we have now is great, and it's more than enough.

* * *

It takes me a minute to remember where I am when I wake up. Noah's here, one arm loosely draped across me, and yet there's plenty of room in the bed for me to stretch my legs, so we must not be on campus. Even with my eyes still closed, I can feel warm sunlight pouring in through the windows, so it can't be our new apartment, which faces west. Slowly my brain wakes up and the puzzle comes together—it's the morning after Lee's and my graduation and birthday party and I'm in Noah's room, at his house. Or, I guess, just his parents' house now. I manage to slip out of bed without waking Noah, and on my way back from the bathroom I draw the curtains to keep the light from waking him. I don't know how much later he stayed up after I called it quits on the party, but knowing him he was the last one standing, making sure everyone had a safe ride home and starting the clean-up. His old desk chair is still here, and I'm delighted to find it still spins as smoothly as ever, although less delighted to discover I can't handle that much spinning any more. Five more weeks until I reclaim my body from this whole crazy pregnancy experience. For now I lay off the spinning and just watch Noah sleep, and I can't help but think of all the other mornings I've woken up in this room.

Lee has a running joke about going back in time to tell his old self some fact about the present day that he'd never have imagined back then, like which terrible bands or cheesy fashions are suddenly cool. Lately a lot of his time traveler jokes have involved going back to terrify his former self with warnings about me and Noah and how this whole situation is going to play out, and I have to admit it's fun to contemplate. I'm not sure which past incarnation of Elle _my_ time-traveling self should visit, though.

As tempting as it would be to drop in on the first morning I woke up in this room, I think that Elle would have had a heart attack to see me show up like this. _Hey, that crush you keep saying you're over? You're not. The good news is, it's not unrequited, and it's not just a crush. The bad news is... it's going to be a while before you get your acts together. Oh, and yes, your 2021 self is very pregnant, and I shouldn't have to tell you whose it is. But definitely try not to think about that a minute from now when he walks into the room._ Sixteen-year old Elle had enough to deal with without that alarming news. Although, if I were going to time-travel to then... I'd drop in on Lee, too. Because he's right, _that_ would be fun, and who knows, maybe I could convince him not to be such a jerk once he finds out.

But no, the more I think about it, the more I realize the Elle that most needs a visit from her future self is the one who woke up in this room to discover Noah already on his way back to Boston after that inexplicable fight. First I'd tell her Dad's going to be okay, really and truly okay. Then I'd tell her to sleep another twelve hours and regain her ability to think straight before she starts calling Noah's phone and leaving increasingly angry messages while waiting for his flight to land. Next, I'd call _him_ and tell him that maybe he should _tell me_ that the reason he'd flown out so early was to go ahead and pack our stuff so he could get back here as soon as possible despite my objections, rather than let that detail get lost in the fighting that was about to escalate disastrously.

Of course, the problem with Lee's time traveler game is what happens if the visit changes the past. It's one thing to go back in time and stun your previous self with the fact that cargo pants will be back in 2021, it's another to go back and actually head off an imminent catastrophe. Because... then what?

And it's way, way too early to be thinking about the metaphysics of time travel, especially on an empty stomach. So, I leave those past Elles and all the others undisturbed, blithely unaware of all that's coming their way, and I head down to the kitchen. Noah has barely stirred the whole time I've been up, so I'm guessing it's going to be a while before he's ready to wake up.

I walk into the kitchen to find Lee digging through the refrigerator, and before I can warn him he's taken a long swig straight from an open pitcher of juice.

"Gross, Lee. Twenty-three and a master's degree and yet still unable to drink from a cup like a civilized human."

"Ugh, not so loud. And I'm planning to drink this whole pitcher, so stop nagging. God, I'm so thirsty and my head is going to explode." Lee whines, looking rather green.

"Yeah, no, I'm not letting you drink that whole thing."

"But it has my cooties in it now. You just saw."

"Lee, stop and sniff that pitcher and see if enough of your brain cells have sobered up to realize that's not just OJ. That's the leftover punch, and there's enough vodka in there to get you all the way drunk again. Go, sit, I'll get you something safer to drink. Did you sleep at all?"

"I think... a little? It was dark when I went to bed. And it's not dark now. It's painfully not dark now. So I must have slept."

Lee's got his head buried in his folded arms as he slumps over the breakfast bar, and it's been a while since I've seen him this hungover.

"You're going to drink this entire glass of water and take this aspirin. And then I'm making you toast. Do you think you can handle toast without puking all over me?"

"Yeeeeees, mom." Lee suddenly giggles, raising his head to look at me. "Wait. It's funny because you are. A mom, I mean. God, that's hilarious. Elle, you're someone's _mom_."

Great. Apparently Lee had enough of that spiked OJ to get him back to tipsy.

"Yes, it's hilarious. As are you. Please tell me your brother wasn't also this drunk because I cannot deal with two of you in this state."

"Oh, no. Noah's no fun. Noah's the one who made me go to bed. I told him he was no fun, you know. Noooooo fun Nooooooah. It rhymes."

"So at least one of you has some sense."

" _You_ used to be fun. Didn't this use to be my job? Fixing your hangovers? Why are _you_ so damn chipper this morning?"

"Seriously, Lee? Why am I not hungover? Maybe because I went to bed at midnight. And didn't drink. Or did you already forget how hilarious you think it is to call me _mom_?"

"Oh, right. Next year you'll party with me on our birthday, right? Please? I missed you."

Just-slightly-drunk Lee would be annoying if he weren't also endearing. I think he's done, but then he keeps rambling.

"Except you'll probably be all pregnant again. Ugh, you're never going to be fun again."

" _What?_ " I can't help yelping it rather loudly.

"Oh, yeah. Come on, we all know it. You're going to marry Noah, and you're going to have a million babies, and we're never going to get drunk on our birthday again. But it's okay, Elle. I'm happy for you. I'm really happy for you."

"Yeah, you're also drunk. Here, eat your toast. See if you can soak up enough alcohol to stop spouting terrifying nonsense. I have absolutely no plans to be in this situation again next year, or any time soon. One is plenty."

Lee takes a bite, then winces. "It's too loud."

"Lee's, there's no music on. Just you and your babbling."

"No, the toast. It's too crunchy. It's too loud when I chew it."

"Oh, god. I'd forgotten how ridiculous you are when you're hungover. Here, plain bread. Just eat plain bread and I'll go eat my toast on the other side of the kitchen, away from your delicate ears. Because I'm not giving up my breakfast just because you can't hold your liquor."

"I love you. You know that, right? Not, like, that way. Because that would be gross. For so many reasons. Not that you're gross. But that would be. You know what I mean."

"I know you're drunk, yes. And I do know you love me. And I love you too, most of the time. But more so when I'm not worried about you puking on me."

"I was wrong, Elle. So wrong."

"About? Your drinking choices last night?"

"Noah. You and Noah. I mean, I had good reason to be wrong. And you could have told me, that would have helped. But I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"You've apologized before. We're good."

"No, but I still have to tell you. I apologized for being an ass, and I said I wouldn't stand in your way, but I was wrong."

"You were wrong to apologize?"

"No. Yes. Wait. I'm not saying this right. I apologized wrong. For the wrong thing. Or not all the things. This isn't something I'm putting up with because I love you, Elle. I'm actually thrilled about it. Because I love you both, and I love how you are together. Even if, god, seven billion people. Seven billion people and you had to pick him. But I'm over that. That's what I'm saying. That I'm happy about this. Not just happy for you. Happy it's happening. I mean, seven billion people. What were the odds he'd be your one in seven billion? Billion is a really big number, you know? And we might be up to eight billion now. I have to check. But you've convinced me. He's your lobster, and I'm okay with that. I'm happy about it. Thrilled."

"Okay, Lee, enough. The point when you start quoting ancient sitcoms is the point when I tell you to go back to bed and sleep this off. I'm very glad you're happy about this, and I'm writing this down for us to talk about once you're sober. But for now? Back to bed, drunky."

Lee lets himself be led up the stairs and back to his room, and he's asleep sprawled perpendicularly across his bed before I can get back from pouring him another giant glass of water.

Noah is finally starting to wake up when I return from wrangling Lee, and I can't resist climbing back into bed to curl up with him. Sleepy Noah is a rare treat.

"How late were you up? I heard you were busy rescuing the drunk again last night. Lee is _still_ drunk, by the way. I didn't get to him before he found the leftover punch."

"Awesome. Three a.m., I think? It was really just Lee that needed rescuing. No damsels in distress or threatening to skinny dip this time." I can feel the rumble of his chuckling against my cheek, and I'd happily stay right here forever.

"Shut up. And look where all that got us. I'm not so sure it counts as rescuing, in retrospect."

" _This_ seems like a better outcome than you drunkenly drowning. Pretty sure it counts as rescuing."

"Whatever. Did I miss anything fun after I went to bed, other than whatever spectacle Lee made of himself?"

"Not really. Everyone kept asking where you'd gone, and I kept having to explain how boring you are these days." Noah manages to block the swift jab of my elbow. "Yikes. Yes, fine, how not at all boring you are, merely justifiably exhausted for reasons that you have informed me are entirely my fault, even if I swear you once said something about this having been a joint endeavor."

"I changed my mind." God, I really do want to just lie here forever listening to Noah's laugh.

"So Lee's still drunk? How bad?"

"Not so bad that we need to worry about him. Just enough to wax poetically about his love for me, you, us, and this situation he claims to have fully embraced as a good thing rather than our plan to torture him."

"Do you think he'll remember all that once he sobers up?"

"I told him I was taking notes. I figured I'd want the evidence. Anyway, I was coming up here to see if you were awake and ready to get going. I want to go home. _Our_ home. With no drunken or hungover Lee. He's not going to be pleasant when he wakes up again."

"Shower first, then breakfast, then home."

"Fine. I had toast with Lee, but I'm still hungry. I'll make us coffee and improvise some breakfast from the party leftovers while you shower."

Noah affects a disappointed look. "You aren't going to join me?"

"Your parents are home. Do you remember that conversation with your mom about how thick the bathroom walls aren't? Because I do, and I never want to have that conversation again."

"I'm offended you would think I was suggesting anything other than you smelling a little ripe and needing a shower."

"Liar. I showered last night. I smell great. And you have never, ever suggested a shower without ulterior motives."

"Fine. But in that case I might need another shower when we get home."

"At our place? Far, far away from your mom? Sure. Any other plans for the day, or just _showering_?"

"We should probably unpack my stuff. Which is likely to get us sweaty, so yeah, there might be more showering needed. And I might have something planned for tonight."

"Oh yeah? Another birthday surprise?"

"Something like that. You'll see."

He's got that sly grin of his, and I'm really enjoying this year's extended birthday celebrations. Maybe next year I'll demand _three_ weekends' worth of birthday adventures.

* * *

We sit out on Noah's balcony with leftover desserts and our coffee, trading stories from the party, and it's about as great a way to start a day as any I can think of.

"So last night worked out? Combining the graduation and birthday parties wasn't too overwhelming?" Noah asks.

"No, it was perfect. Just enough of the old people crowd early on to keep our friends from going wild right away, and then a classic Lee party once the old people cleared out."

"The old people crowd?" Noah laughs.

"You know what I mean. Our parents' friends. God, if one more person looks at me fake-sympathetically while asking if I'm _sure_ I've got five more weeks to go, I'm going to clock them. All that confirmation of how enormous I look just never gets old. But at least no one's joking about shotgun weddings anymore or fishing for details about our plans. I guess with my due date so close they've finally accepted that's not happening. So _that_ 's a relief."

Noah looks at me strangely. "Yeah, a real relief," he says finally. He drinks the last of his coffee and I can't tell if there's something more he wants to say or if he's just distracted. Eventually he gets up, extending a hand to help me up. "Come on, we should get going. We've got a lot of unpacking to do."

There's something off about his expression that I can't quite pinpoint, a change to his mood, and I wonder if it was my comment about shotgun weddings and everyone finally dropping the subject. We've carefully avoided that whole topic lately, and maybe I shouldn't have joked about it. But he knows what I mean. He knows why I'm relieved. I hope, at least.

Noah is already downstairs by the time I finish getting dressed, and as I'm gathering my things I notice his blazer from last night still lying discarded on top of his dresser. I grab it, and as I do I hear something fall to the floor. I crouch down to hunt for whatever it was, and that's when I see it. That's when everything falls into place. Noah's mystery plans for this evening. His reaction to my comments and the tension afterward. There, peeking out from under the desk, is a small box carrying the name of a San Francisco jeweler and I suddenly know exactly what's inside. Exactly what Noah's plans for this evening were. And I have absolutely no idea what to do next.


	46. I Could Never Say No

**_(Noah)_**

Elle has her plate balanced atop her belly as she reclines on one of the deck chairs and I wonder how much trouble I'd be in if I photographed this achievement of hers for posterity. I've been filling her in on the party shenanigans she missed after her early bedtime and I wouldn't mind starting every day like this. Just the two of us on the balcony, a lazy breakfast, Elle laughing, and nothing in particular on our agenda for the day. Well, nothing except for my plans for this evening, but there's plenty of time until then, and Elle doesn't yet know about those.

Elle's grumbling about all the comments she got last night about looking ready to pop, and I'm about to remind her that those folks are well-meaning but clueless when her next comment stops me cold.

"But at least no one's joking about shotgun weddings anymore, or fishing for details about our plans. I guess with my due date so close they've finally accepted that's not happening. So _that_ 's a relief."

She says it so emphatically that I can't help but stare at her, trying to decipher her expression. I know jokes like that and wedding nagging in general have driven her crazy all spring, but there's something about the way she said it. How definitive she was that it's not happening. But what she's saying isn't necessarily worrisome, isn't unreasonable, I tell myself. She's saying a _wedding_ isn't happening before Dinah shows up, and with just five weeks to go she's probably right on that point. She's not saying a wedding is never happening, or that we shouldn't talk about a wedding yet.

At least, I hope not. Something about how she said it, the relief evident in her voice and expression, does make me wonder. Just a little.

"Yeah, a real relief," I finally respond.

I tell myself I'm reading too much into so casual a comment. Elle's just reacting negatively to others meddling in our business, and being relieved they've stopped, not discussing her own feelings about marriage. Nothing about Elle these last few weeks has suggested she's anything but confident about us and our future. She's made offhand references to where _we_ might live next, if she decides to go to grad school. She's joked about the look on Principal Morin's face when _we_ show up for Dinah's first day of school. God, she even once commented that she hoped _the next one_ would be a boy. Sure, she was half asleep and joking about something, but still. I've spent the last few weeks trying to find the right occasion, the appropriate setting, but I'd never doubted _we_ were ready. Until now.

"Come on, we should get going. We've got a lot of unpacking to do." I extend a hand to help her up, and while the habit isn't new, she actually needs the help these days, though it's best never to acknowledge that.

Elle's comment keeps echoing in my head as I gather yesterday's clothes and the few things I'd brought to stay overnight. It may not have been meant as it sounded, but it's also not particularly encouraging.

I don't have to propose tonight, I remind myself. If Elle doesn't seem to be in the right frame of mind, I could put it off. But today feels meaningful. It's been a week of celebrations and transitions—Elle's birthday, our anniversary, Elle's graduation, my move to LA. It's the start of a new chapter, and the timing had finally felt right. Even if there isn't time left to plan a wedding before Dinah shows up, I still want Elle to know that's what I want. Where I want us to be next year, and all the years after that. I want her to know just how long I've wanted this, just how long I've known she is it for me.

I don't have to decide yet. I don't even have to decide when we go out tonight. The plans I'd had in mind, they don't have to lead to a proposal. They could just be... a nice evening. So I'll play it by ear. See how the day goes, see if Elle says anything else alarming or encouraging. In the end, it's going to be a leap of faith no matter when I do it.

I realize as I'm hanging Elle's dress from last night in the back of the car that my blazer must still be in my room; I'd ditched it once the old folks started leaving and the party turned casual. I definitely need it back—not the blazer itself, but the contents of its inner pocket. It was probably foolish to have brought the ring along yesterday, especially given my plans for tonight, but I don't know, I guess I wanted that option, if the moment had suddenly presented itself.

I jog back upstairs to grab the blazer along with the last of our things, then stop short at the door to my room. Elle is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, my blazer in one hand and the ring box in the other.

Suddenly it's obvious what's happened, and I have no idea what to do next. The box is still closed, but from Elle's stillness as she stares at it I have no doubt she knows what's inside. I also realize from her stillness that she may not have heard me come back upstairs, may not realize I'm at the door, witnessing this.

I could back away silently, then more noisily walk down the hall, say something to alert her that I'm back upstairs before I walk in the room. See what she does. See whether she slips the ring back into the blazer and hands it to me without comment. Pretend I don't know she's seen it. Go about our day as planned and decide later whether to go ahead with tonight's plans or wait. Except now I can't put it off, I realize. If her earlier comment meant anything even close to its worst possible interpretation, I can't let Elle wait and worry what my plans are now that she knows there's a ring. We have to talk, no matter how difficult the conversation might turn out.

Or maybe she'll surprise me. Maybe I'll walk into my room and she'll beat me to the punch. Proposing to me with the ring I'd bought her would be an incredibly Shelly stunt and one she is more than welcome to pull, no matter what plans I might have had for tonight. But that assumes she wants to. That assumes she isn't sitting there quietly panicking. And that's the worst case scenario, the quiet panic, the spiraling shutdown, the imminent disappearance, which is why I have to acknowledge this, have to let her know I know.

"Elle?" I say softly, stepping into the room.

Her head whips around, and her startled expression confirms she'd had no idea I was standing there.

I sit myself next to her on the floor. "So, you found it."

"The blazer—it fell out when I picked it up." She's still staring at the box in her hand as she says it, her voice small.

"I figured."

"Was that—for last night? Were you going —"

"No. I mean, I wasn't planning on it. Not last night."

"So... why?" She's still not looking at me.

"I was planning on it—when the time felt right. And I didn't think that would be last night, but I wanted the option."

"And tonight's plans? Was that still birthday stuff, or..."

I'd had a plan. There were things I wanted to say first, places I wanted to go with her. But it doesn't look like tonight will be going according to plan and I don't want to lie.

"I was thinking the time might be right, yeah. I mean, our anniversary and your birthday and graduation and us moving in—it's a big week. A new start. So it seemed fitting."

And maybe _this_ is the moment. We're talking about it. The ring is in her hand. Well, not the ring itself, but we both know what's in that box. The question is floating between us as clearly as if I'd actually spoken the words. To back away now, to wait for some perfectly-planned scenario, would be absurd. So as loud as the alarm bells are in my head, so too is the voice that says to seize the moment and take the leap.

Except all of a sudden I have no idea what to do. Like, logistically. Physically. I hadn't actually thought through this part, just figured it would all make sense in the moment. I never imagined we'd be sitting on the floor of my old room, not quite facing each other, bags slung over both our shoulders because we'd been on our way out the door. Do I... kneel? Except she's sitting. So then I'd be looming over her, and isn't it supposed to be the other way around? That, and _she_ 's holding the ring. Do I need to retrieve it from her?

The hilarity of letting myself be fazed by such meaningless details hits me and I laugh softly, putting my bag down and sitting up a bit. I guess I just ask, that's really all there is to it.

But as I take a breath and look up at her, I see understanding flash through her eyes. Understanding and alarm, and the hand she'd had holding my blazer flies forward to grip my arm.

"Noah... please _don't_. Not right now. Not like this."

There's panic in her eyes as she scrambles to stand up, and shit, this is the worst case scenario.

"Elle?"

She looks at the box in her hand, as though suddenly remembering its presence, and the box falls to my desk as her hand startles open. I stand up too. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I can't let her run away. Not that I could stop her, but I need her not to want to. I step back to sit on the edge of my bed and I reach for her hand.

"Shell—please don't go. I'm not sure what just happened but please stay. Sit. Whatever just happened, we need to talk about it."

I can see her take a deep breath, then relax a fraction. She lets her bag slide off her shoulder, then walks over to me. I'd hoped she'd come sit next to me, and I'd have gladly settled for anywhere in this room she decided to be, as long as she didn't leave. Instead she walks over and wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. This has to be a good sign, I tell myself, and I scoop her up and scoot us further back on the bed, until she's sitting across my lap, her arms wrapped almost painfully tightly around me.

"I'm not panicking. I promise, this isn't me freaking out." She's whispering, but with her face buried against my neck I hear and feel her every word like a declaration. "And I'm not going anywhere, at least not without you. But I am asking you not to do this. Not today."

I have no idea what to say. Except— "Why, Elle? Why _not?_ "

"Because I'm not ready. Because this isn't how it was supposed to be. Not how I want it to be."

"How? Elle, I'm trying to understand, but you've got to explain it to me." She's wrapped around me and she's telling me she's not going anywhere, but she's also reacting like the future I want for us terrifies her.

"There's too much going on right now. I feel out of control. I've been running to keep up for so long, running to react to events out of my control. And I know I have to just deal with it, I know we've both had to. This baby's showing up whether we're ready or not, so we'd better bust our asses to get ready. But that's not how I wanted us to make _this_ decision."

"You _know_ this isn't because you're pregnant, Elle. You must know that. I've wanted this for a long time. For years."

"You think _I_ haven't? I mean, you—you're the only part of this that's how it was supposed to be. And I don't mean that I had some ridiculous proposal expectations. I could care less about that. But I wanted it to... _feel_ right, I guess. This whole year has been reacting and figuring out how to adapt, and that's not how I want to make this decision. I want it to be when I feel like myself. In control. When there aren't a million pressures on us. I never want to doubt that it was for the right reasons."

I struggle not to let my frustration show. Does she think this is all exactly how _I_ wanted things? That my dream was for us to finally let ourselves try again after two years, only to make a flaming mess of things? To discover that Elle is pregnant and have to wonder whether it could actually be mine if no one has bothered to tell me? To realize how much time we've lost because I couldn't see past my hurt feelings? Yeah, it would be simpler if Elle weren't pregnant and we'd been back together longer. But that's not where we are, and I'm not going to give up on the destination because we hit some detours on the way.

I'm still trying to find the words to say any of that without making things worse when Elle sits up, meeting my eyes briefly before taking my hands and interlacing our fingers.

"Noah, I could never say no. I need you to know that. That if you asked, I'd say yes. There's no universe in which I could ever say no, no matter how unready I feel. But I am asking you _not_ to ask me. Not yet, because this isn't how I want to say yes. Not now. Not like this."

I let out a long, frustrated breath before answering. "How is telling me you'd say yes different than... saying yes? If you know that, if you're telling me that—what is there left to be unsure about?"

"It just _is_ different. It matters when we decide this, and why. It matters to me."

"Is it... all the wedding stuff you don't want to deal with yet? Because we can put that off. We can get through whatever chaos is about to unleash in our lives first, and get married later. God, we don't even have to tell anyone. This has nothing to do with what other people expect from us, Elle. I just... _want_ to. But not if you don't want to. But I just don't understand."

Elle lets out a short, mirthless laugh.

"Getting married before Dinah's born is the entire reason I _would_ say yes. I mean, you're the reason I could never say no, but she'd be the reason to say yes rather than beg you not to ask yet. But you're also the reason I want this to be right. I know all the things that would be easier, smoother, simpler if we got married right now. So I realize I'm being completely irresponsible. I realize I'm putting ridiculous emotional hang-ups ahead of practicality. But I have wanted this for too damn long to do it wrong." Her voice cracks as she struggles to get that last sentence out, and I can see her eyes fill with tears before she buries her face in my neck again.

I still don't understand, so I focus on the encouraging parts.

"You've wanted this?"

"Yeah. Of course. I mean... I wasn't ready to make that decision, but I didn't think I had to. I couldn't see a future without you, but I thought we had time. A lot more time. But when the question actually came up, it was just too soon. With too much else going on."

"When it came up? When has it ever come up?"

Elle raises her head to look at me. "You don't remember? I guess that answers the question of whether you were serious or just trying to win an argument."

There's bitterness in her voice, and I'm so confused. And then I realize. It's not that I'd forgotten, it's that I didn't ever think she'd taken it seriously.

"Our fight before I went back to Boston. When you didn't want me to stay."

"Yeah. Was that real, that proposal? Did you actually think you meant it, or were you just trying to prove a point? Trying to convince me you should stay?"

"I said it for the wrong reasons, and I said it rashly, but I meant it. You were acting like me staying was so absurd. Like you couldn't possibly imagine why I'd put college on hold for you. And then you said that thing about how we weren't actually married, and I don't know, I reacted without really thinking about it. Because if _that_ was your reason why I shouldn't stay, god, that was an easy one to fix. I wasn't trying to prove a point. And I also wasn't thinking particularly rationally. I just... said it. Because it made sense in that moment. It wasn't serious but it also wasn't _not_. I didn't _not_ mean it. I wanted to. I already knew that, I'd figured that out that summer. I wouldn't have said it if it hadn't already been on my mind. It had nothing to do with the accident and wanting to stay. I mean, of course it did, but that's not why I said it. I wanted to stay for the same reasons I wanted to marry you. That's why staying would have been easy."

Elle stares at me a long time before shaking her head ruefully. "God, we fucked up."

" _I_ did. You didn't. You had too much to deal with already and I couldn't see it. I made it worse. I mean, just because I meant it didn't make _marry me_ the right thing to say. I should have seen that. I should never have gotten offended at your entirely rational reaction to my completely irrational proposal."

Elle squeezes my hands hard. "Okay, stop. We've already had this conversation. We said we were done with it, and I want to still be done with it."

Elle lets go of my hands and slides herself off my lap, standing before me again. She's got that look she gets when she's had enough of a topic, when she needs to be done talking. She leans forward to give me a hard, lingering kiss, then pulls back to look at me.

"I know what you're thinking. That this is me panicking. That this is me not wanting to think about the future, not being able to trust, running away. I promise you it's not. I love you. I'm not going anywhere. I know what I want. I want you, and I want to be with you. But I also want—I _need_ —to not give up this one thing. I need this one decision not to be tangled up in all this. And right now it's not, it can't be. So I am asking you, please, not to ask me right now. Not because I don't want to. Because I don't want to like _this_."

It still makes no sense. I still don't understand it. But I know Elle. I can tell she's being painfully honest. I can see how difficult telling me this was, and I know she wouldn't if this weren't important to her. And she's admitted she wouldn't say no, couldn't, no matter how unready she feels. I can't abuse that. No matter how little sense this makes to me, no matter how frustrated I am, I can't ask her when I know she'd be forcing herself to ignore her instincts. The fact that she'd do that if she had to, that she'd do it for me, for us, is why I can't do it to her. Even if I don't understand this, I trust her.

"Okay." I'm not sure what else to say. "If this isn't the right time for you, then it's not the right time for us. Consider the subject dropped, until you tell me it's not."

I cringe at how harsh it sounds once I've said it. I'm not sure how to make it not. I can't pretend this thrills me. I can't pretend this is how I'd hoped today would play out. I watch as Elle retrieves her bag, then waits by the door as I grab my own things. I awkwardly pocket the ring box on my way out of the room and we make our way to the car in silence.

Why is it always here that our worst moments happen, somehow? Lee finding out, and then that fight. Elle storming out of my room when I wouldn't drop the Stanford subject. That disastrous unexpected fight after her dad's accident. And then that even more disastrous fight by the pool, last fall. Maybe we should never set foot in this house again.

Except it's not like all the other times, because this time we leave the house together. We haven't said a word since leaving my room, and it's painfully awkward, but we're together. I'm not on my bike desperate to put as many miles between me and Elle and Lee as possible. Elle's not slamming my door on her way out of the house, or mutely gathering her things while I stare at anything but her. I'm not rashly taking off to the airport mid-fight. We're together, and we're going home, to our home. And this wasn't a fight. It was weird and awful and frustrating, but it wasn't a fight. She didn't say no. She all but said yes. Just not now, and I have to respect that even if it makes no goddamn sense.

The agonizing silence endures as I drive us home, as we ride the elevator to our floor, as we walk down the hall to our door, as we put away yesterday's clothes and the few other things we'd brought for the overnight. As I hang up my blazer, I realize there's one last thing I need to say. One coda to this whole painful discussion before we table it for however long it's going to be. I retrieve the ring box from the pocket I'd stuffed it in on our way out of my room, and I reach for Elle's hand to get her attention, not wanting to startle her after going without words for so long.

"I want you to know where I'm putting this. Here, in the top drawer of my dresser. And it's going to stay there until you tell me otherwise. No surprises. No worrying whether I'm planning to. Which means you're going to have to _tell_ me, once you're ready. I have as little interest in hearing you say no, or put me off again, as I know you do in saying it. So it's up to you."

"Are you saying I have to propose?" Elle seems to laugh despite herself, although her tone is hollow.

"Not quite. I mean, if you want to, go ahead. Any path that gets us engaged is fine with me. But what I meant is that I'm dropping the marriage topic. Entirely, until you let me know it's okay to bring it up. And I'm not saying you need to have it all figured out, to have your mind made up. Just... when you're ready to talk about it again, let me know."

"Okay." Elle nods slightly after a long pause. "Thank you. I know this doesn't make sense. I wish I could explain it better. I wish I could _not_ feel it. But thank you for trusting me."

Yeah, well, I'm not sure what choice I have. I could propose, and forever know I made her say yes when she wasn't ready. Or I guess I could break up with her. Neither of those options is remotely acceptable. And so I'll wait.

* * *

 _A/N: C'mon, you had to know it wasn't going to be that easy. I promised many (many, many) chapters ago I wouldn't break them up again, but I never said it would be easy._ _And did I mention we're getting into the chapters I've been looking forward to for months?_


	47. The Strangest Week

**_(Elle)_**

It's... strange, really strange, that week after the proposal that wasn't. We're not fighting, in theory everything is fine and nothing has changed, but something is definitely _off_. Off-kilter, off-balance, off-pitch.

Coming home from the Flynn house Sunday is the worst of the awkwardness. We've agreed that we're done talking about marriage and engagement and the rest of it, at least for now, and we haven't actually argued, but how do we get back to ordinary conversations after Noah all but proposed and I all but turned him down? I mean, I didn't turn him down—I turned the proposal down. I turned down the prospect of him proposing right now. Which is different than turning _him_ down, but still a weird, uncomfortable thing to move on from.

We'd planned to unpack Noah's stuff on Sunday, and eventually we just get to work on that without really talking about it. Having something to _do_ helps, though, and soon enough the mood starts to feel a tiny bit lighter.

I fall asleep on the couch when we take a break in the late afternoon, and by the time I wake up Noah has picked up dinner. There's no mention of whatever plans he'd originally had for tonight. Instead, after dinner, Noah cedes control of the remote so I can catch up on the shows I'd missed while busy with finals and graduation. He stays next to me as I stretch out on the couch, though, his phone in one hand while the other tracks Dinah's movements. She's running out of room, so now instead of somersaults she's really into kickboxing, which isn't a win for me. Still, it's nice to curl up next to Noah and not have to talk about all those things we're not talking about.

And then of course one of my shows has to bring all the awkward back into focus by featuring a surprise proposal as its season finale cliffhanger. I wonder if joking about it would help. Noah must think it would, because he mutters _Don't worry, I'm not taking notes_ without looking up from his phone. And yeah, I guess it did help, because now I'm laughing.

"You'd better not be. Flash mob proposals are so over."

"Damn it, the flash mob. _That's_ what I forgot to call off." Noah deadpans, snapping his fingers.

"Hilarious as always."

The humor helps, a little, but things are definitely still... off. Noah doesn't follow when I head to bed and I fall asleep alone, but I'm relieved to wake in the morning with the familiar weight and warmth of his arm draped over my side and his chest pressed against my back. And that's how the next few days unfold, things normal but not quite, awkward but not overly so. It's a relief the week is as busy as it is, because it's easier when we have something safe to talk about, something tangible to do, to distract from everything we're not talking about.

Monday Noah helps me move out of my campus housing, which is to say that he and Mickey do all the work while I direct traffic and vote keep or pitch on random items. I haven't mentioned the non-proposal to Mickey, but by the end of the day she can tell something's up between us and she tells Noah she's stealing me away for one last roomie dinner.

"You're an idiot," Mickey informs me after I finish explaining what happened on Sunday. Or, rather, describing, since I realize there's no good explanation for it.

"You think I don't know that? But knowing I'm being ridiculous doesn't actually change how I feel."

"Hey, you didn't let me finish," Mickey protests. "You're an idiot, but I get it. Come on, give me some credit for knowing a thing or two about how you operate. You're not done wrapping your head around the fact that all this is really happening, that all this future you thought was in the hazy far-off distance is actually _right now_ , and you're going to keep fighting this until your brain finishes working through the situation and you feel in control again. Sound about right?"

I let out a long exhale. Maybe if acting doesn't work out Mickey could go into profiling. "Yeah, I guess."

"Tell Noah to call me next time he's thinking of proposing. I could have told him how this would go if he tried it now."

" _I_ have to tell him, next time. He said we're not discussing marriage again until _I_ put the topic back on the table."

"And when is that going to be?"

"I don't know. That's the point— _I don't know._ But I know it's not now."

"So what is it you're waiting for? What's the plan?"

"What plan?"

"You say you don't want to decide like this. So how _do_ you want to decide? When? What's the magic thing you're waiting for that's going to make you okay with this?"

" _I don't know_. But I know it's not now." I'm not sure how many times I need to say it.

"No offense, Elle, but you need an endgame. A plan to resolve this. Otherwise you're just torturing yourself, not to mention him."

I let out a frustrated sigh before answering. "I need... to trust myself, I guess. Trust that we'd be doing this anyway. That we wouldn't be screwing this up otherwise. That the baby isn't what fixed us. God, maybe that's it. To know that we could have done this on our own."

"Elle, do you seriously think the baby made things _easier_?"

"Not... easier. But it took away the escape routes. We had to."

"You really didn't."

I raise an eyebrow at Mickey. "Oh yeah, and exactly what alternative did I have?"

"All kinds. Ending the pregnancy. Not ending it, but never telling Noah and giving up the baby. Having the baby and telling Noah you don't want him involved. Some kind of custody sharing. Some kind of friendly custody sharing without the two of you being together. The two of you co-parenting but taking things slowly romantically. Literally dozens of different ways thousands of other people react to this situation every day. But the only outcome _you_ ever had in mind, even when you were convinced it wasn't going to work, or worried it would be for the wrong reasons, was _this_ one. The one with the two of you together. Really, truly together. Face it, Elle. You know what you want and you have since January. You just don't like how it happened. That you had a curveball thrown at you you never expected."

"I _know_ that. I, like, told Noah that." I'm not clueless. I do have some self-awareness.

"Okay, but that part's never going to change. October and this pregnancy will always have happened the way they did, no matter how long you wait." Mickey points out, increasingly exasperated.

"But the decision doesn't have to happen this way."

"You mean the decision that you've already made? The decision that Noah is the only future you can imagine?"

"It's just _different_. It just is."

"Like I said—I get it. I know what's going on in your head. I just hope you'll admit how stupid it is sooner rather than later. But I'm done talking now. We're going to eat ice cream and mock bad TV together one last time on this terrible couch, and then you'll go home to your stunningly patient future husband."

" _MICKEY_."

"Just because you're in denial doesn't mean I have to be."

And just because Mickey's right I'm being stupid doesn't change how I feel.

* * *

Tuesday Noah is gone most of the day. He doesn't actually start work until late August, something I'm grateful he managed to negotiate, but today they want him to come in for paperwork and to get to know more people. Things have been progressively less awkward between us since Sunday, but it's still a relief to have an excuse for some time on our own.

Lee comes over to finally see the apartment, and afterward I convince him we need a bestie day. We drive around in the Mustang all day, taking turns picking the next activity. Lee starts with our favorite thrift store, and his taste hasn't improved, but I really can't say no when he discovers there's a kids' section and starts buying Dinah her own collection of crazy shirts. Next I vote for lunch at my favorite pizza place, and after that Lee insists on the arcade. I manage to get through two songs with my dance pad set to the absolute slowest beginner setting, and then I entertain myself by making Lee dance to songs I know he hates with the difficulty set to max. He's incredibly out of practice, and when I tease him about it he admits that he stopped playing once Kristina broke up with him and I was already gone. That revelation kills the mood, so I make our next stop the ice cream stand on the boardwalk. We sit on the beach for a long time, eating our sundaes and catching up, and sometimes I really wish Lee had taken that job in LA. Sure, we still talked all the time when he was in Boston and I was here, but phone calls just aren't the same as actually having him _here_.

I haven't mentioned the proposal-that-wasn't to Lee. Noah must not have said anything either, or Lee would have been bugging me about it all day. I debate whether to say anything now. It seems impossible _not_ to tell my best friend something like this, but finally I decide that this is one of those times when I need to keep Lee out of it, out of fairness to all of us. It's not like Noah and I are fighting and there are sides to be taken, but still. Lee can't be in the middle of this, and the only way for him to not be in the middle is for him not to know. Besides, I'm really enjoying spending an entire day with Lee that's just _us_ , with minimal Noah or baby talk; it feels like forever since we had that.

Our last stop is Country Day, to pick Brad up after his baseball practice. He's thrilled to get to ride in the Mustang, less thrilled to be seen on campus with his _incredibly embarrassing_ prom-crashing sister, so of course Lee and I don't just pick him up and go, we insist he take us all around campus to see what's changed.

It's hard to believe it's been five years already since we graduated, and realizing that reminds me that Country Day hosts an alumni reception every year around the holidays. The thought of showing up with Noah and Dinah makes me burst out laughing, and when Lee asks me what's so funny I make him promise to attend the reception too. Lee very reasonably points out that Noah and I showing up with a baby won't exactly be earthshaking gossip; besides the fact that Mia already told everyone, there's nothing _that_ unusual about people our age having kids. Sure, we're on the younger side, but it's not like MTV's about to come calling for any reality shows. What Lee's saying may be true, but the idea remains hilarious to _me_. Maybe it would be different if I were showing up with some guy I met in college and our baby, but I can't be around Country Day with Noah and Lee and not still see us as we were then. And therefore, this whole baby thing? Hilarious. I'm tempted to steal Brad's uniform tie, have Lee take a picture of me by the lockers, and send it to our parents captioned _YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE_. But, uh, maybe not. That might be pushing them just a little too far. And, to be fair? Also _my_ worst nightmare.

Lee has dinner plans with friends, and I'm relieved that means he can't stick around long enough after driving me home to see Noah. Things have been getting better, sure, but Lee would still notice something's up if he hung out with both of us long enough. And if Lee notices, then Lee's in the middle, and I've decided I need him out of this.

At least dinner is less awkward tonight. I've got all of my adventures with Lee to recount, Noah's got all sorts of stories to tell about his future coworkers, and for the most part it feels like a normal night at home. Not that we actually know yet what a normal night at home _is_ for us; we've had three months of weekend visits, two and a half years we won't speak of, and several years of dating before that, but we're not even a week into living together. The fact that this is home for both of us, that neither of us will be heading back to their own apartment or dorm room at some point, is still novel. Well, except that Noah actually _will_ be leaving very soon, at least briefly, because one of those Harvard weddings he was invited to is coming up this weekend.

The wedding is in New York and there's no way I'm flying that far, or really anywhere, at this point, but when Noah had asked me weeks ago if he should bow out and stay home with me I'd told him absolutely not, that I'd be fine and that there was no way Dinah would show up this early. I'm getting more nervous about that as the date approaches, but I'm also glad to have the excuse for some space this weekend, some time to myself. Noah asks again now if I'm sure he should go, and I tell him yes. He doesn't press the question, and maybe he needs the space too.

We hadn't actually had anything planned for Wednesday, but somehow that morning we both remember things we need to do, things that will conveniently take us out of the apartment for a few hours. I mean, I really _had_ promised my advisor we'd meet after graduation to talk about those articles and that textbook I'm going to be helping her write, it's just that maybe it didn't need to happen today, if I hadn't been looking for a reason to be busy. But Noah's excuse is no better, something about one of his gearhead friends in San Francisco wanting him to go see a vintage bike someone in LA is selling, to see if it's worth the friend flying down to check out. And Noah conveniently makes his plans for the afternoon while I make mine for the morning. Purely by coincidence, of course.

But avoiding each other isn't actually any fun, even if right now it's sometimes _easier_ , so when Noah returns from his extremely important motorcycle evaluation mission I announce we're going out to see a play Mickey's friends are in and then hang out with all of them. The play is... bizarre and experimental and probably we weren't meant to laugh as much as we did, which is also an accurate description of these particular friends of Mickey's, but it was the right call for the evening. I'm still giggling by the time we get home, and when Noah informs me that we need to make ourselves forget ever having seen that play as soon as possible, I have no complaints with how he suggests we accomplish that.

The next morning is the most relaxed we've been all week, but it's also cut short far too soon by Noah needing to head to the airport. He's invited to the bachelor party and the rehearsal dinner for that Harvard wedding, and so Thursday morning he flies to New York after reminding me one more time that he can be back at an airport within an hour if at any point I think anything Dinah-related is happening.

* * *

It takes exactly one day alone in our new apartment to regret having wanted time to myself. Not that I regret sending Noah to see his friends, and probably the time to myself is still a good thing, it's just not an enjoyable thing. We've just spent seven continuous days in the same city and on speaking terms for the first time in nearly three years, and yet having Noah gone already feels unnatural.

Thursday I keep myself busy unpacking and arranging the stuff from my old apartment, and then I've got my now-weekly appointment with Dr. Kim, who reassures me everything looks normal and nothing seems imminent. The prospect of an evening alone isn't appealing, so I invite myself over for dinner with Dad and Brad and let them distract me with their usual squabbling. Add Dad and Brad to the list of people I haven't told and don't plan to tell about the un-proposal—this is our thing to figure out, Noah's and mine. Sure, I told Mickey, and I guess Noah is welcome to tell Adam, but that's different. Mickey and Adam aren't entangled in this the way our family is.

June keeps me busy all day Friday; although the nursery looks ready to me, entirely thanks to her, June apparently still has all kinds of decorating planned she wants my input on. I don't think I care nearly as much as she does, but her enthusiasm is contagious and by the end of the day she's got me ridiculously excited about penguins. Penguins _everywhere_. Don't ask me why penguins, because I have no better reason than an adorable stuffed penguin having been the first thing I saw in the first store she took me to. I will say, though, that the penguin theme ends up a brilliant choice because it means I can nudge June away from too much pink by reminding her that penguins are black and white.

Noah calls on Friday night after he gets back from the rehearsal dinner. He sounds just a little tipsy, nowhere near drunk but just enough that he's loose and teasing and our conversation doesn't have that stilted feeling it's often had this week. It's a relief and we chat about everything and nothing until we both fall asleep with the call still connected, the way we sometimes would his first year at Harvard. But washing away the awkwardness with a little alcohol really isn't a long-term solution.

On Saturday I'd planned to go through my old room to decide what to move to the new place and what to finally get rid of, but at the last minute I take Mickey up on her plan to hit the beach. A lazy day with friends turns out to be exactly what I needed, even if being in a swimsuit is doing nothing for my creeping feelings of enormousness. The most ridiculous part is that my bikinis actually fit better than anything else right now; even the one-piece I'd bought to swim laps is reaching its limit. Mickey helpfully offers to paint my belly like a beach ball with her stage makeup collection and I'm laughing so hard I almost can't manage to flip her off. _Almost_.

We spend the day under the shade of a giant beach umbrella and every once in a while, when the other girls have wandered off to the waves or aren't paying attention, Mickey and I talk about what's still, always, continually on my mind. Everything she's saying makes sense, she's right that I need to figure out what exactly I'm waiting for, what exactly will convince me, and yet I still just _know_ that now isn't the right time. We've been through so much that we deserve to make this decision for ourselves, not _because_ of anything, and I can't shake the conviction that the only reason we're discussing this now is because this baby has us on a deadline.

Speaking of Dinah, even she seems to be weighing in to concur in Mickey's frustration. She's been getting the hiccups more and more often lately, which was cute the first few times I realized what I was feeling but has long since lost its charm. Usually when Dinah starts hiccuping Noah chases her around in their usual game of tag, and for some reason that gets her to stop, but when I try the same thing today she just stubbornly keeps on hiccuping. Clearly she's picked a favorite parent already and I should have known it wouldn't be me. I lean back in my beach chair and watch my stomach jump with every hiccup, and as aggravating as it is she's not going to change my mind that easily. Baby girl, after rearranging every other part of my life for you, _this_ decision I'm making on my own.

Noah sends updates and a few pictures throughout the day, mostly passing on greetings and news from Harvard friends, but occasionally joking about some detail or other of the wedding itself. And it's weird, so weird, joking with Noah about a wedding right now. But it's just the silly stuff we're talking about, like the outrageous number of bridesmaids and the cringe-y toasts and the fact that the cake looks amazing but tastes like cardboard. Or so Noah claims, at least. It's possible he's lying about that to make me feel better after having unwisely sent a picture of the dessert table that nearly made me cry with jealousy.

Mickey invites me to dinner after our beach day, but I've had enough socializing and I'm finally craving that quiet apartment that seemed so lonely earlier. I make myself the laziest dinner ever, yet another toasted peanut butter and jelly with a giant decaf latte on the side, and I enjoy the fact that every time I reach into a cabinet or a drawer I'm faced with a jumble of my stuff and Noah's. I send him a picture of my dinner and immediately get an eyeroll back along with a comment that I can't be left unsupervised even two days before reverting to childhood eating habits. Which is nonsense, because I hated coffee as a child, so this is absolutely an adult dinner.

I'd been hoping Noah would call again Saturday night, but we don't manage to connect; he doesn't pick up when I call as I'm going to bed, and I wake up Sunday morning to a series of missed messages saying he's back near his phone, and then a sweet message wishing me a good morning in advance.

It's been a week now since that terrifying little box landed at my feet, one long weird week, but we're getting our groove back, slowly but surely. One more day apart and one more lonely night until Noah gets back, and then we can start fresh. What we have is already so good, and this awkwardness isn't going to last; there's so much left to do to keep us busy and so much to look forward to. Including, at some point—when life feels normal again, when the moment feels right—finally putting that box back on the table. Not today, but at some point.


	48. Clarity

**_(Noah)_**

Maybe I should have expected this outcome, or at least more seriously considered its possibility. Adam seems to think so, and he keeps apologizing for not having warned me off. I hadn't planned to tell him about Sunday's debacle, but he jokingly asked if I were still carrying the ring around _just in case_ and I guess my reaction wasn't as opaque as I'd intended. That's when Adam admitted he'd wondered whether Elle and I were on the same page, given some of her comments about marriage, but that he'd thought it better not to meddle. And I'm glad he didn't—as painful as Sunday was, it was still a conversation Elle and I needed to have, and not via an intermediary.

And maybe Sunday wasn't the disaster it felt like in the moment. Maybe I did get what I wanted, or at least the important part. Elle all but said she both wants and expects us to get married. Just... not yet. And without actually making that decision yet—because, somehow, saying she _wants_ to isn't the same as saying we _will_. Somehow. But Elle admitting that's what she wants is already a victory. And, obviously, I know it's what I want. So, then, the only real difference is semantics. If we weren't going to manage to get married before Dinah's arrival anyway, and if we both want the same thing in the long run, then maybe it shouldn't matter that Elle needs to call our current state something other than engagement.

It _does_ matter to me, is the problem—but the situation is what it is. This is how Elle feels, and marriage isn't something I want to have to talk her into. So, I just need to deal with it. Elle's said she isn't going anywhere and I've got to trust her and trust that she'll come around, as frustrating as all this is. At least the awkwardness is fading as the week goes on.

Still, this feels like the wrong time to be flying across the country, and for a wedding of all the ironic things. I offer to cancel the trip, but Elle insists there's no need and I get the impression she's looking forward to a few days' break from this awkward dance we've been doing. Maybe she's right. I'll see my friends, she'll run around with Lee and Mickey, we'll each get a couple of days to wrap our heads around our strange non-decision, and hopefully when I get back we can start fresh, free of this week's weirdness.

Of course, a wedding turns out to be a terrible place to escape from thinking about marriage, especially in my current situation. Jokes about how I need to hurry up and propose to the girlfriend who shut me down when I tried to do exactly that just days ago get real old, real fast. First it's the guys at the bachelor party joking about my being next, then the friends I go to lunch with Friday ragging me for dragging my feet, and now just about everyone I know at the rehearsal dinner is asking if we're engaged yet. After a while I start dodging acquaintances and making a beeline for people I don't recognize at all, and that works decently well. I get to know some of the bride and groom's family and non-Harvard friends, and I get a break from repeating that Elle and I are in no rush: win-win.

At some point after dinner a somewhat familiar face approaches and I brace for another round of unwelcome questions. To my relief, Ian makes no reference to anything Elle or baby-related. Instead we make small talk about jobs and where we've been living, and then Ian leans in conspiratorially, gesturing broadly at the room.

"So, which one do you have your eye on?"

"Which one _what_?"

"I figured you of all people would know already which of these lovely women are single... or interested anyway."

Yikes. "Can't help you there, I'm afraid."

"Really? Single and squandering this prime opportunity?"

Apparently he's the last person not to have heard.

"Not so much single." I laugh.

"Ah, sorry, didn't see a date with you; I just assumed. Is she here?"

"Elle couldn't make it this weekend." No need to discuss why.

"Well, what she doesn't know... Wait. Shit. _Elle_ Elle? The same Elle? Or do you just have a thing for girls named Elle?"

"Just this one particular girl named Elle."

"Damn. When did _that_ happen?"

There are many answers to that question. Three months ago. Eight months ago. Seven years ago. Years before I realized what had happened. I go for vague. "This year."

"Huh. Well, that's good, I guess. She was fun."

And then Ian goes back to speculating about which of the bridesmaids he has a chance with. Maybe it's just Ian being the least likely person on Earth to have marriage on the mind, but I can't help but notice he's the first not to harass me about our plans, whether seriously or jokingly. And maybe this is what Elle was getting frustrated about, that automatic assumption so many have been making, that entitlement people seem to feel to weigh in on our lives and relationship. She's probably right that if she weren't pregnant we'd be hearing a lot fewer wedding bell jokes this soon after getting back together—it's just that I still don't see why that should affect how _we_ think about it. But, I've told her that already, told her that I'd want to anyway, and evidently that doesn't change how _she_ sees all of this. So, once again, my options are to deal with it and wait for her to figure this out, or... well, there are no other options.

Elle and I fall asleep on the phone Friday night, and when my alarm goes off the next morning it takes me a groggy minute to remember where I am and why she isn't next to me. I have no idea what it was we were up talking about so late, but I do remember Elle laughing a lot, actually laughing, and that's a relief.

I've got time to kill before needing to get ready for the wedding and I don't feel like dealing with my friends again so soon, so I go for a run and then sit on a park bench to enjoy the respite from nosy questions. There's a couple with a toddler picnicking nearby and I try to wrap my head around the idea of being in their shoes soon. It's educational, too—I'm learning that toddlers are extremely loud, really into bubbles, and surprisingly fast given their ridiculously short legs. Maybe the prospect of having my own kid to wrangle soon should be more terrifying, but it's just not. We'll figure it out. And that's the part we should be focused on right now, not getting hung up on whether there's a difference between _agreeing marriage is in our future, someday_ and _just getting engaged already, damn it_. Okay, so maybe I _am_ hung up on that one. But so is she.

Trying not to think about marriage while attending a wedding ceremony works exactly as well as you'd guess, and my friends don't help the situation, continuing to badger me about my own plans at the reception. I distract myself with the ridiculous aspects of it all, sending Elle a stream of texts about the flower girl hurling a fistful of petals right at the minister's head, the fact that not one of the eight bridesmaids seems happy with their matching dresses, and the bride's father mispronouncing his new son in law's name three times during his toast. I do hesitate before sending some of those texts, but I only promised to drop the topic of _us_ getting married; Elle can't expect me to avoid the entire concept of marriage for however many months or years she's going to need to feel ready.

I wake up disoriented Sunday morning. Just like my first two wakings here, the room is way too quiet and the bed way too lonely. Instead of Elle's soft breathing, there's nothing but the whir of the hotel air conditioner, and even though I seem to have slung an arm over a pillow at some point in the night, it's no substitute for Elle burrowing against me to avoid the morning light. But I must have been dreaming about her, because I wake up confused, then disappointed, by her absence. The thing is, that's not new. It's how I've woken up most weekdays since Elle's first visit to San Francisco. I spent two years telling myself to get over her and pretending I had, and then two mornings waking up next to her again put me right back at square one.

And maybe it's that sharp pang of disappointment, that stinging sense of absence, that finally makes it all clear. I missed her yesterday. I missed her all weekend. I missed her every time there was a reading at the ceremony or a toast at the reception waxing lyrically about the nature of love. I missed her every time I watched the bride and groom make dopey faces at each other. But I missed Elle all those times because we already _have_ that, and if our years of idiocy haven't managed to change those feelings, I don't see why I'd need any kind of formality to officialize them. And I didn't just miss Elle then, in those overtly sentimental moments, either. I missed her a hundred subtler ways throughout this trip, all those times I turned to tell her something or reached for her before realizing she wasn't there.

We already have what we need, we already know what we have, and if Elle needs more time to admit that we're already there, if she needs to prove some point to herself about doing this for us and us alone, that's fine. More than fine. I don't need to trust she'll get there someday, because I know she already is. All but the formalities, and if she needs those formalities a certain way, if she's got expectations she refuses to let go of to rush to the altar, I'll wait. We'll do whatever legal paperwork we need to make sure Dinah is protected, and then I'll wait.

But I won't wait to see her. Maybe we needed this time apart, but now it's enough. I've spent the weekend celebrating someone else's love story, and I'm sure the beaming bride and groom will understand if their flagrant happiness has made me realize that brunch with them isn't where I need to be right now. The friends I'd planned to stay the extra night in New York to see will also have to forgive my change of plans.

There's a flight leaving JFK at eleven and that's just enough time to shower, pack my bag, and grab a cab to the airport. I consider telling Elle, but it's still way too early on the west coast. Besides, surprise appearances have been working for us lately. I've got the entire plane ride to try and figure out what to tell her, and by the time I land at LAX I think I've got it down.

Lee asked me once when it was my feelings for Elle had changed, and the best I could come up with was that they never had. Sure, it took me time to realize how I felt, and longer after that to accept it, but the feelings were always there. It was before any of the breakups that Lee asked that question, but my answer would be the same today. The breakups never changed my feelings, just how I dealt with them. No matter how much anger and bitterness I tried to hide the truth under, I still felt the same. And maybe that's the point now. I know how I feel about her. I know how she feels about me. And as long as we agree on that, we can disagree on the right time and the right way to make this decision.

* * *

 ** _(Elle)_**

It's a lonely wake-up again on Sunday, but at least there's only one more day and one more night ahead of me before Noah returns. I'm feeling more settled with where we are, more relaxed. What we have is already so good, and this awkwardness isn't going to last; there's so much left to do to keep us busy, and soon enough Dinah herself will be monopolizing our attention.

I do have a heart-stopping moment as I put away laundry and come face to face with the ring box; there it is in the top drawer of his dresser, just like he said. I'm briefly tempted to peek inside, but I don't. Just because the time isn't right doesn't mean I don't want the whole experience when the time _is_ right. Besides, the ring isn't the point. It's not like discovering it's perfect or hideous or a plastic mood-ring from my eighth birthday party his inner sap somehow made him keep all these years is going to change my mind about anything. It's there, I know it's there, and I've got to trust it'll still be there when the time is right.

I've put off packing up my old room long enough, so after a quick breakfast I drive home—well, my former home—and get to work, promising my dad I'll yell for Brad whenever I need anything heavy moved. I try calling Noah to say good morning, but he doesn't pick up and he's not reading my messages. He should be at the farewell brunch by now, so I'm guessing he's got his phone in his jacket and his jacket on his chair as he mingles.

I start with my closet. The only clothes left are those I knew I wouldn't need this past school year. Winter attire brought back from Boston, high school uniforms, dresses and costumes from long-ago parties. I keep a few sweaters, but the rest of the cold-weather wear goes into the donation pile. Who knows whether I'll need it again or when I'll fit into it again. Same with the uniforms; I keep a couple of shirts that don't scream uniform, and a skirt and tie as souvenirs, but all the rest goes. The costumes and nice dresses I feel more sentimental about; I'll keep those here as long as Dad puts up with them. Maybe I'll never wear those dresses again, but they're full of memories. Finally, I go through my dresser and toss the random ratty old clothes I should have gotten rid of years ago, and that's the clothing done with.

Books are next. Those are easy to sort because I want all of them. I load the ones I can reach into boxes and the rest I'll have to ask Brad to help with later. I steadily work my way through my room until there's nothing left but the stuff I've been intentionally avoiding, the boxes stashed out of reach and out of sight into which I'd crammed every last reminder of Noah and Boston a few weeks after Dad's accident. Everything I didn't want to think about having lost. I take a break to gather my courage before asking Brad to drag those boxes out of the closet for me.

Of course, if there's one thing that sorting through the accumulated flotsam of the first decades of my life has forced me to admit today, it's how futile that attempt to erase Noah from my life had been. Despite our collection of anniversaries, there was never really a _before_ , never a time he wasn't in my life in some way. There, in so many of the pictures recording Lee's and my adventures, and just out of frame in so many more. The doodles he added to every postcard Lee sent me from family trips. The handheld console he'd claimed to never use anymore when he gave it to me to distract myself at the hospital, even though I'd seen him playing it all year. The seashell on my desk that he'd been the one to find, but that I'd pestered him for all summer until it just appeared in my bag one day. The _Never listen to Lee_ he'd carefully inked in bold letters on my cast after that whole scooter incident.

Not to mention, most of those dresses I decided to keep earlier were those reminding me of parties and other adventures with him. There's a reason my prom dresses are long gone while the blue dress is still here. The blue dress that I'd once tried to get rid of, until Noah lobbied for keeping it. I was mystified why, since I'd never worn it to anything with him. Or so I thought, until he sheepishly admitted that dress caused him more than a little bewilderment at my sixteenth birthday party. Bewilderment that he decided to deal with by stealing Tuppen's date, but it's a more charming story when I leave out that detail.

Anyway, it's time to face those last few boxes; I yell for Brad and he drags them from the closet for me. First up is a storage bin that turns out to contain all the Noah-things that had been strewn around my room before we'd broken up. Countless pictures of us, goofy gifts and souvenirs, a baseball cap I'd stolen from him and refused to return, the repurposed biscuit tin I'd saved ticket stubs and notes and other sentimental reminders in while we were dating. All of it got rounded up one insomniac night not long after the final furious hang-up, and it's clear from the haphazard way everything was tossed into the bin how angry I was that night.

Then there's a box of BU mementos. That stuff I hadn't hidden away so much as saved for later, back when I hoped I'd be back in Boston by the next fall at the latest. Intramural athletics jerseys, my student ID, the nameplate a friend made for my door, a half-completed punchcard from the student center coffee shop, a well-earmarked course bulletin, and so many other little things I never imagined I'd never need again.

The last box is the biggest one. It's one of the boxes Lee packed and shipped back from Boston for me, and when I look inside I realize it's the one that I never finished unpacking after seeing it was full of my winter outerwear and blankets. A lot of what I pull out goes straight into the donation pile—I'm hoping never to need a parka or this many scarves again. This must have been the last box Lee packed, because there are all kinds of random items from my dorm room mixed in along with the winter clothes and bedding—a tangle of USB cords, my hair dryer, a purse, souvenir cups from campus events, spare soccer shin guards, my shower flip-flops. Nothing I had ever noticed I was missing. Finally I lift out what looks like the last layer, my duvet, but underneath I discover a shoebox covered in writing. The handwriting is Lee's, but that's not why my stomach drops when I see the box. No, it's the box itself, with its familiar colors and logos from a brand I have only ever seen the other Flynn brother wear. Lee's messy scrawl practically covers the top of the box, text squeezed into all the available space, and when I lift the box out I discover the message keeps going all the way around one side and to the underside.

 _Elle, Noah asked me to send this with your stuff. I still don't understand what the hell you two are fighting about, but work this out soon because you're both miserable and there's only so much glowering I can take before I shove Noah into the river. You and Dad seem to have talked him out of taking this semester off, but honestly I'm tempted as well because it's just no fun here without you. xx, Lee. PS: Your roommate said to reassure you she packed your underwear and bras, not me. Like I haven't seen it all every time you trick me into helping you do laundry._

Noah sent me something, and somehow it didn't occur to Lee to flag that for me? To realize that maybe the box of coats and blankets wouldn't be one I'd prioritize unpacking in LA in September? I look at the shipping box again, and Lee had helpfully labeled it "WINTER + RANDOM." I'll yell at Lee about this later, after I see what's inside the shoebox and how irate I need to be. Lee packed up my room about two weeks after Dad's accident, a week after I realized I wasn't leaving LA anytime soon and Noah flew back to Boston. That's around when the fight was turning incurably hostile, when I was so fed up with telling Noah I didn't need him dropping out for me, so quick to anger every time he called.

I open the shoebox and find a note taped to the underside of the lid, a page torn from a spiral notepad and covered in Noah's dense, blocky writing. I put it aside to look at last. I'm not sure I want to read it. Noah never mentioned having sent anything, not this spring or in October and definitely not back then, and maybe not knowing is better than having to wonder if whatever it was would have made a difference.

Most of the space inside the box is taken up by a fabric-covered cylinder, and as I lift it out I discover it's my favorite coffee thermos wrapped in two Noah-sized tee shirts. One of them is the Harvard orientation shirt I'd claimed as a nightshirt ever since my first visit, and the other is from a concert we'd attended my last summer in Boston. A post-it on the thermos reads _This was in my room and I didn't think you could live without your coffee. You also made it clear long ago this shirt is yours, so I'm sending it, along with a second one for laundry day. Please don't forget laundry day_. God, I'd forgotten how he used to tease me for putting off laundry until every single thing I owned was dirty.

Next I find a stack of postcards rubber-banded together, with a post-it reading _I thought postcards had gone extinct, but apparently tourists still buy them. I figured you could use some reminders until you get back here for real._ There's more random small stuff in the box, most of it with some kind of explanatory note. Earrings I'd left in his room. A chocolate bar from the fancy place I loved in Harvard Square, now covered in bloom, and I am _really_ going to kill Lee for not making sure I found this box sooner. Crosswords to keep me busy at the hospital. Comic books labeled _For Brad_. The exact pink Red Sox cap I always, always made fun of tourists for wearing.

At the bottom of the box is a flat rectangle wrapped in white printer paper, and I inhale sharply as I unwrap it. It's a book, a hardback with faded cloth covers and "The Blue Castle" stamped across the spine in foil lettering. Another page torn from a notepad falls out when I open the front cover.

 _Shelly,_

 _This was going to be for Christmas, but I figured you could use it now. N_

 _The Blue Castle_ was my mom's favorite book, the sentimental novel she'd fallen in love with at twelve and would pull out when she needed a lift. I would always tease her and call it antique chick lit, but once she was gone I read her battered paperback copy over and over, needing to feel that connection. And she was right, once I got used to the outmoded style the story grew on me. Her copy followed me from home to Boston and back, and it's in my nightstand at the new place now, its covers practically falling off. This copy, though, is gorgeous despite its evident age, and I have no idea how Noah managed to find it; if it's not a first edition, it can't be far off. There are post-its peeking out from a number of pages, and after I read the first few I realize Noah must have actually read the book.

The idea that he'd tracked down this book for me, that he'd read it just to leave me notes, and that he'd known I'd reach for it after Dad's accident, has me sniffling before I've even gone past the first chapter. I look around my room, and I guess I'm done packing for the day. I curl up in my armchair and start flipping through the pages, looking for Noah's notes, and there are dozens of them, post-its inserted every few pages with comments ranging from the snarky to the sincere.

 _Ah, the taciturn mystery man with a bad reputation. I assume they hook up._

 _Ok, so this is actually tragic and I will never admit to you that I almost cried a little. Almost._

 _A secret room she's never allowed to look inside. Always a good sign._

 _This would be really sweet if I weren't still worried he's a murderer._

Partway through the book the pen color changes and the comments stop having anything to do with the story, and I realize Noah must have added these notes right before packing up the book, without having time to finish reading it. Some of these last notes are silly doodles, others reference running jokes of ours, and more than a few are just the words _I miss you_ in letters large enough to fill the post-it. It's the last note, on the inside back cover, that breaks me, not that there was much left unbroken; all it says is _Call me_.

It's far from the first time I've cried angry, frustrated tears over our disaster. It's far from the first time I've been this bitterly enraged that we let this happen. Enraged at both of us, equally, separately, jointly. I don't care who might have been ever so slightly more responsible for the breakup, we were both entirely to blame for its duration. If there's one thing October proved, it's that no matter our collection of justifications and excuses for our respective anger, none of it would have survived _just fucking seeing each other_. Not that we wouldn't have needed a mountain of talking afterward, as October also proved, but if one of us had just _called_ , had just dropped their pride and _shown up_ , all of this could have ended years sooner.

We've lost so much time already, let our fear and hurt feelings stop us just short of the goal line so many times. When I was almost ready to call but let Abbi's gossip stoke my insecurities. When Noah drove past my lit window after coming home but didn't stop. When I chickened out of going to his graduation party. When I let myself admit how much I missed him enough to add a third star over my shoulder, but still refused to call him. And then October. That whole disaster. My meltdown. Noah dodging Christmas dinner. The two months it took me to be ready to call him with our news.

And why? I've spent the day sorting through my entire life, surrounded by reminders of our whole story, the good chapters and the bad, and it's always been him, always been us. It took us a long time to figure that out, but it was always there. I'm done fighting it, done letting my fears get the better of me, and if I'm angry right now it's at myself for refusing to see this earlier. Mickey kept asking what I was waiting for, what I needed to convince myself, and the truth is there's nothing to wait for, nothing more I need. It's all here, all around me, in every keepsake saved and every memory still fresh despite the years apart. I know what I want, I've known it a long time, and I'm not going to compound the mess we made of things this year by waiting for some mythical calmer moment.

I'm filled with nervous energy all of a sudden, jittery and kinetic and tense. It's one thing to make a decision, another to figure out what to do about it. I try calling Noah, but he's still not answering, and it's not like I'm going to pour this epiphany out to him over the phone anyway. Or, I don't know, maybe I am, once he finally picks up. How do I _not_ say anything? Which is ridiculous; I all but insisted henot bring the subject up again for months, not until after Dinah, after life settled down again, and now all of a sudden I'm climbing the walls at the idea of having to wait _one more day_ for him to get back so I can tell him he's been right all along.

I pace my room restlessly, looking for things to pack, trash to pitch, disorder to neaten, anything to channel this energy. And then I see it again, the note that had been taped to the lid and that I'd set aside to read later. It's just one page, Noah's handwriting uncharacteristically rushed and littered with erasures. I'm almost afraid to read it now, but I can't not, I have to know. I'm too agitated to sit still and, as I stand by the window clutching the note, I will the warmth of the early afternoon sun to relax me.

There's no date, no greeting, just a torrent of words filling all the available space.

 _Lee wants to get your room packed today, so I guess it's now or never for this note. Look, Elle, I have no idea why we're fighting. I know_ what _we're fighting about, I just don't get why. That's not on you, that's on both of us, and you've got enough to deal with, which puts this on me to fix. Except I don't know how. I can't keep calling you when the result every time is you crying even more. You want me to stay here and graduate, fine. It's just more time I'll have to bum around Boston later, waiting for you to finish, but no problem. That was the plan anyway._

 _I won't keep arguing about it, but you know how I feel. So when you're ready, when you want to talk, when I don't for whatever reason make you so angry, call me. Just call me. Whenever. Lee thinks we should fly home at Columbus Day, but I need to know you want me to. I can't keep making this worse every time I say anything._

 _Anyway, there's stuff of yours I wanted to make sure you got back, and some things I thought might help. I wish you'd let me be there and actually help. Not because you need it, because I want to. If you change your mind, today or next week or months from now, the offer stands._

That final sentence is crammed into the last white space on the page and there's no sign-off, no X's and O's, not even his name. Just raw honesty and an open invitation that I never saw. Not that the letter would have changed anything. It's all the same things Noah was saying on the phone. But I don't know. Maybe having it on paper, in a form I couldn't interrupt or goad into a fight, just words staring fixedly at me, would have been harder to ignore. Maybe.

I feel like I should be furious right now. Furious at Lee for making it so easy to overlook this box. Furious at Noah for never checking that I'd gotten it. Furious at myself for... all of it, everything. But I'm not. Instead, I'm just _done_ with it all. Tired of rehashing our worst moments, frustrated to discover yet another way we screwed up. I'm done with it. That earlier burst of nervous energy has evaporated, and now all I want is to crawl into bed and forget about all of this. It's not even mid-afternoon, but it's been a long day and an even longer week. I'll take a nap, I'll have dinner with Dad and Brad, maybe I'll stay over to avoid another lonely night in the apartment, and then hopefully by the time Noah gets home tomorrow I'll have figured out how to tell him that I'm done being an idiot.


	49. Ask Me

**_(Noah)_**

I consider calling Elle once my flight lands, but I want to surprise her. She sent messages this morning saying she was headed to her house to pack, so I decide to take a chance on her still being there. Brad's playing basketball in the driveway when I arrive and he lets me in, telling me Elle's in her room. I call her name as I walk up the stairs, not wanting to startle her, but the silence greeting me in return is explained when I find her asleep on her bed, boxes everywhere around. Ah yes, I should have realized it would be nap o'clock for her.

I could use some sleep myself after being up late at the reception, so I do my best not to wake Elle as I stretch out alongside her. From up close I realize that she's been crying, and I hope it wasn't because of how weird I let things get this week. The copy of _The Blue Castle_ I'd sent her way back when is near her pillow, and I'm glad to finally see it; I'd scanned the bookshelves at her UCLA apartment but never found a way to ask about it. Even if she never did call, at least I told her, at least she knew.

I wake up to Elle saying my name in a confused voice.

"Noah? What are you doing here? Weren't you going to visit Nick after the wedding?"

"I missed you." I missed her, I was sick of witnessing someone else's happiness when I could be here with her instead, and I wanted to tell her I'd wait as long as she needed.

Elle's eyes light up and she starts to laugh. She looks like she's about to say something, but then she dives at me instead, raising herself on one elbow and pushing me to my back before kissing me with urgency, somehow still laughing as she does it. She's got her hair twisted into a messy bun and she's wearing an ancient Country Day gym shirt that she must have unearthed while packing, and for a second I'm propelled six years into the past. Elle's room was always my favorite place to hide away with her, even after it was no longer the relationship we needed to hide, just my presence in her room after midnight.

I'm not sure how far Elle is intending to take this, or if she even remembers we're at her house with her bedroom door open, but based on how quickly her fingers are working at the buttons of my shirt I'm going to guess _quite far_ and _not at all_. As appealing as the first is, that second situation needs to be addressed. I capture Elle's hands and start to lift her off of me so I can sit up, and she does _not_ look pleased by the interruption.

"The door, Elle. Brad is home. And who knows if your dad got back while we were asleep."

"Ugh, _fine_." She watches from the bed as I go close the door, leaning back on her elbows with a smirk playing at her lips. "So you were so eager to see me you ditched your friends?"

"I did, yes. Although for more reasons than what you seem to have in mind."

"Are you telling me this isn't reason enough?" Whatever it was she'd been crying about before her nap, her mood is sparkling now.

"I'd never say that. I'm saying I also had other reasons."

"Oh yeah? Like?"

Elle's fingers are back at work releasing my shirt buttons and she doesn't sound particularly interested in hearing my other reasons. And as much as I hate to pause this, I actually would like to tell her what I've been thinking about all weekend. I capture Elle's hands again and she frowns at me in frustration.

" _Now_ what?"

"If you can keep your hands to yourself for _one minute_ , I'll tell you those other reasons I came home early. I missed you, Elle. Not just while I was away, but this whole week. Since Sunday. Things have been so weird since then, and that's my fault. I've been thinking about everything you said, and I get it. People have been breathing down our necks for months and for what? We know what we want. We know how we feel. But we don't need to hurry this. And I'm sorry if it's taken me this whole week to say that. But that's why I was in a rush to get home, to tell you that I get it. We don't need to discuss this now. Hell, we probably don't need to discuss it ever, because we already know. But decisions and formalities and all that, that all can wait."

Elle's got a strange glint in her eye, and she sits up to look at me.

"You rushed home to tell me there's no rush?"

"Okay, when you phrase it like that —" I start to reply, but Elle cuts me off.

"But your big epiphany, the reason you came home early, was to agree we should wait?" She's still got that strange smile.

"I don't know that I agree we _should_ , but I'm saying I get it. And that I'm fine with waiting. You're right, it's not the time to talk about this."

Elle's been biting at her lip throughout my explanations, her expression increasingly enigmatic, and suddenly that tension releases and she collapses into giggles, letting herself fall back against the pillows. Which... don't get me wrong, Elle's laughter is usually the best possible indication that things are right between us, but I'm not sure hysterical giggling was the reaction I was going for right now.

It's a long minute before Elle gets her laughter under control and sits back up, and hopefully this is the part when she explains what exactly is so hilarious about all of this.

"No." Elle finally says, grinning at me.

"No?" Also not the reaction I was going for. Unless what she means is...

"You're saying you'll wait. That we don't need to rush. That we don't need to talk about this now. That it's not the right time. And I'm saying no. To all of that." Her smile stretches broadly, but I can hear her voice catch.

"Elle?" I will my heart to return to a normal rate. There's no way she's actually saying what it sounds like she's saying, as much as I wish she were.

"You're trying to unpropose. Or depropose? I'm not sure there's a word for it. But whatever it is, I don't want it. So I am saying no. I am turning down your unproposal."

She is. She is in fact saying exactly what I hoped she might be saying. But she's not getting away with being cryptic. No, if she wants me to propose again—or, rather, to actually propose this time—she's going to need to _say_ so, because I'm done guessing at what she's thinking and I'm not letting her off the hook this easily.

"And what exactly does that mean?" I try to keep my voice steady.

"That I was wrong. That we don't need to wait. That we _can_ decide this now without it being about the baby. Because we already decided this, ages ago."

Her tone has turned more serious, her earlier giddiness shifting to a fierce sincerity, and I wait for her to continue, my heart and mind racing.

"I mean, not that we specifically decided _this_ already. But the reasons for it, they've been accumulating forever. In little bits and pieces along the way. I've been making myself crazy since January with how we could ever make this decision now and not have it be about the baby, but then I spent today surrounded by all these reminders of every part of my life, and I realized how stupid I was being. How short-sighted. Because there's no way it can just be about the baby when it's been there all along. So... "

Elle's voice falters, and she pauses a second as if to choose her next words, fussing at her bracelet before reaching for my hands. "So... I'm glad you understand now why this was hard for me, but I don't need any more of your patience. I don't need more time. I've spent all day surrounded by our whole story and I've never been more sure of what the next chapter should be, what I want it to be."

She pauses again, her eyes flicking down to our joined hands, and I wonder if there's more she wants to say. I'm desperately curious what changed her mind, but that question can wait until later. There's a more important question to address first.

"So... go ahead. Ask me." Elle finally says, half-laughing, her eyes bright as they shift back to mine.

I stare at her a long second, then shake my head lightly, smiling. "Nope."

" _No_?" Elle echoes with a surprised chuckle, and I can tell she knows I'm teasing, but doesn't quite believe it.

"The way I see it, this is your job now. _I_ just spent a very long week convincing myself that we don't need to do this yet. _You_ 're the one who's had the sudden change of heart. So I think _you_ 'rethe one with a question to ask."

I'm grinning at her, but I honestly do need her to do this. I need to be certain it's what she wants and that the time is right for her. She's told me she could never say no if I asked, so now I need her to do the asking. Or at least, to tell me outright that she wants to. Not just that she doesn't object to my asking, but that she wants us to be engaged. So I can be sure _she_ 's sure. Well, that, and because damn do I enjoy teasing her.

"Seriously?" Elle stares at me, fighting back a smile.

I nod my head slowly and seriously.

"I thought you had a whole plan for doing this. This is your chance." Elle protests.

"Oh no, now this is _your_ chance."

Elle's expression is incredulous, but I just keep grinning back at her, holding her stare. Finally she shakes her head and fixes me with a determined look.

" _Fine_. But you never, ever, get to complain that I stole your thunder. And I don't have a ring for you. Or any kind of good speech prepared. But if you want me to do this, fine."

I can't not laugh at her exasperation. "I always imagined this moment would be... less passive-aggressive. But go on."

Elle shoves me back against the pillows, her eyes flashing. "Oh my god, if you're going to be this unbearably smug about all of this, I'm going to reconsider."

"No, please don't. I'll be quiet now. Cross my heart."

"You'd better," Elle huffs, sitting back again. "You know, this is your fault for coming home early. I thought I had all evening and tomorrow morning to come up with how to tell you this. Okay. So. Where to start. _I love you_ seems like a good place, even if that's not where we started. I'm not actually sure where we started, or how, or when, but I know it took us a while to figure out. But we did."

I promised I'd be quiet, but not that I wouldn't interrupt, and it's impossible not to kiss her when she looks at me like that. Not too long, though, because I want to hear the rest of this. Elle smiles indulgently at me before resuming, and she's looking more confident with every word.

"I've been in love with you a long time, probably longer than I've realized it. Definitely longer than I've admitted it. But that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was trusting myself that this was the real thing. I mean, we were so young when this started. I didn't want this to hold us back. To make us miss out on who we were supposed to grow into. So I didn't want you to drop out for me, just like you worried I was passing up Stanford for the wrong reasons. But I don't actually want to talk about any of that again. The point is, I never trusted myself enough to put us first. Except the breakups didn't actually free us up to go be ourselves, they just made us miserable. It took me a while to get it all in perspective, but I finally did. I was so afraid we would hold each other back, I missed that we were holding each other together. I mean, not that we can't hack it on our own. We can, we have. It's just... we're better when we're together. And that's okay. It's okay to need each other."

Elle pauses again. I don't think I'm capable of coherent speech right now, so instead I just wait for her to go on. I can see her struggling for the right words.

"I guess what I'm saying is that the part we keep screwing up is being brave enough to take the leap. And that's been on me, most of the time. And there's still a lot I'm terrified about right now, all kinds of changes and decisions looming that I have no idea how I'm going to navigate, but—not you. You, I'm sure about, and I have been for a long time, even if I couldn't deal with admitting it. Even if both of us have tried hard to deny it at times. And when I think of you being by my side for all the upheaval coming, suddenly it's not so scary any more. It's kind of thrilling, actually. So... that's why."

This time she's the one to pull me in for a kiss, and as I stare dazedly at her afterward I realize she's looking at me expectantly, awaiting an answer.

"I was kind of hoping you'd agree," she finally says, smiling nervously.

"Shell, you do realize you haven't actually asked me any questions yet, right?" I need her to _say_ it.

Elle huffs in frustration. "I just _told_ you. In a very long speech that you made me come up with on the spot. Five minutes after I woke up from a nap."

I stare back at her without comment, mirroring her raised eyebrows, and finally I give in and laugh. "You have to actually ask, Shelly."

"Really? This is how you're playing this?"

"I'm just saying, right now seems like a time when clarity counts. I'm not taking any guesses. You've got to actually ask."

"Do you require a neon billboard, or would an engraved invitation do? _Marry me_."

She looks adorably agitated, and there is no possible proposal I could have come up with that I would be enjoying more than this. And cut me some slack, I've been waiting for this moment a long time; I'm going to savor it.

"See, that's still not a question, it's more like an order. Although I do love it when you're bossy."

 _"Noah Flynn, do you want to marry me or not?_ "

At least it's a question this time.

"Well, when you ask so nicely... yes. Definitely —"

I was going to repeat it, but Elle seems to have decided she's done letting me talk. I don't blame her, I was being pretty obnoxious. And I definitely don't object to how she's going about silencing me. She rises, settling herself astride my lap and kissing me not with the urgency of when she'd first awoken to find me here, but instead a relaxed deliberateness, an unrushed delight. The awkward distance forced by her current shape reminds me with a jolt of why this decision had once seemed so complicated, and I let my hands sweep down her back and around to the hard curve of her belly. I'm not sure seeing Elle pregnant will ever be anything but surreal, in the best possible way.

Finally Elle pulls back. This time she's the one with a mischievous smirk.

"So, do I ever get to see that ring, even if I'm the one who asked?"

"Yes... on one condition." I tell her.

"There are _conditions_? You already agreed. It's too late to add conditions."

"Relax, Shelly. The condition is that you let me take you out for at least some of what I had planned for last Sunday."

Her mock fury evaporates and she grins. "I'd like that."

"Should we head home, then? Unless of course this was all part of your master plan for today and you brought the ring with you."

"Yeah, I totally grabbed the ring this morning to come over here and pack. With you being gone until tomorrow."

"When have I ever been patient enough to wait for my originally-scheduled flight?"

Elle rolls her eyes. "Point taken. But the ring is right where you left it."

"So? Home?" I start to sit up but Elle pulls me back.

"Mmmmm... five more minutes?"

We lose track of time long before those five minutes are up.


	50. Origin Story

**_(Elle)_**

Getting caught making out is exactly as mortifying at twenty-three as it was at seventeen. Less terrifying, but still mortifying. I mean, not quite _caught_. Dad did at least knock, and it's not like we were naked, but still. Given my yelp of surprise and the time it took me to open the door, not to mention our poorly-silenced giggling and cursing as we got ourselves presentable, I'm sure it's extremely obvious what we'd been up to.

"Dad! Hi! You're back!" Damn it, I _sound_ seventeen too.

"And so is Noah, I see."

"Just helping Elle finish packing," Noah answers brightly.

"Yes, clearly. How very _helpful_ of you. Elle, should I plan on a fourth for dinner, or should I assume that Noah's reappearance will mean your disappearance?" Dad's way too amused by all of this.

"I, ah, I think we have dinner plans." I stammer.

"I figured as much once I saw Noah's car here. Don't worry about finishing the packing tonight, I'm in no rush to have you gone. Oh, and if your dinner plans involve being out in public, turn your shirt back inside-out." Dad pats my shoulder affectionately before walking away.

"Oh god. This shouldn't be this embarrassing but it is." I've got my hands at my cheeks, willing their scarlet blush to die down.

Noah is laughing at me, that jerk. "Yeah, we keep this up, your dad might get suspicious that we're _together_."

"Oh, shut up. Just because I know he knows doesn't make getting caught any less mortifying."

"Are we not telling people about the engagement yet?" Noah asks curiously. "Because for once we had the perfect comeback to getting caught."

"It didn't even occur to me. I was too busy trying not to die of embarrassment." I've managed to wrestle my shirt back on the right way now. "But I actually would rather wait, just a little. Not long, but I'd like today to be just ours. If you don't mind."

"As long as _I_ don't have to wait for an answer? We can torture everyone else as long as you want."

* * *

Our reunion is temporarily interrupted by the need to get both of our cars back to the apartment, but I'm glad for the time alone with my thoughts. None of them are second thoughts or regrets, but most are rather dazed.

I had been dreaming about Noah, while I napped. We were at a party, and somehow I knew I was dreaming but I couldn't wake up. Which wouldn't have been unpleasant, except for having no idea when the dream was taking place or whether _we_ were together in the dream's reality. None of the other guests or the location looked familiar, just Noah, and I had no idea what to do, no clues about what might be going on between us. I desperately wanted to go over and talk to him, but I was frozen by my total confusion about what our situation was, of whether we were together or broken up or maybe even hadn't ever been together in this alternate reality.

The dream-Noah eventually noticed my staring, but even then I didn't know how to interpret his reactions. He smiled at me slightly, then turned away to talk to someone else. I kept on watching him, standing still in the middle of the crowd of strangers, ignoring them all, knowing none of them were real. But _he_ was real, somehow. Somehow I knew he was real, and yet I still had no idea where we stood, and so I just stayed there, frozen, watching him. That's when the dream went fuzzy around the edges, its sights and sounds fading until I blinked awake. Except it didn't all fade away, because somehow, impossibly, there _he_ was when I opened my eyes, asleep next to me. And I would have thought this was just the next part of the dream, except now I _knew_. I knew exactly where I was, and when, but more importantly—I knew where _we_ were.

And then ten minutes later we were engaged, which still doesn't feel entirely real. I fell asleep missing Noah and wrestling with what to do about the realization that had just swept over me, and then suddenly, magically, there he was and we were talking and there was laughter and quite a few kisses, and then somehow... it was all decided. This decision that had seemed so daunting, suddenly just... settled.

Getting engaged seems like it should be an earth-shaking moment, like something I should be struggling to get used to or having second thoughts about. Instead, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I've done it, I've managed it. I've let myself admit that Noah is it and this is it; more importantly, I've managed to admit all that to _him_. And now I want to shout it from the rooftops to anyone who'll listen, except... I also don't. At least, I don't want to tell those who'd be most interested in learning this news, not yet at least. I want to hide away with Noah somewhere and just grin goofily at each other for at least a solid week while ignoring everyone and everything else. I know we can't, and I do want to tell our families, but it's still nice to daydream about as I make the short drive back to our apartment. _Our_ apartment. I still love saying that.

Noah is being annoyingly tight-lipped about our dinner plans as we get ready. He says no when I ask if I need to dress up, but this also doesn't seem like a leggings-and-stealing-Noah's-shirts-because-none-of-mine-fit-anymore occasion. He puts on nicer jeans and a polo after changing out of his traveling clothes, and I figure a sundress should work anywhere that works. Besides, my wardrobe is limited these days.

I remain in the dark about our destination as Noah drives us away from the apartment. We're heading away from downtown, and we're already well past the Country Day campus and the gazebo. Noah doesn't make the turn that would take us up to the Hollywood sign, and he keeps on driving past the exit for the Pier. That rules out most of the landmarks of our relationship, and I search my memory for other meaningful locations.

"Wait, are we going to the beach house? I would have grabbed extra clothes if I'd known we were going somewhere overnight." I ask in confusion. "Or that place we picnicked once in Santa Barbara? I'm not sure I can wait that long for dinner. I might need you to stop at a gas station so I can grab a snack."

"No and no, and you'll get your dinner soon, I promise. We're nearly there." But he _still_ doesn't tell me where we're going.

Oddly enough, we haven't discussed the engagement since leaving my house; it's like now that the decision is made, the rest is details, and those details can wait. We trade a few stories about our weekends, but for the most part I'm just enjoying the drive and enjoying watching Noah. Finally we pull off the road at what must be our destination, since Noah has stepped out of the car and is at my door offering a hand.

The restaurant in front of which we've parked looks vaguely familiar, although maybe not more so than any roadside diner looks like every other roadside diner. I wrack my brain for any memory of it, but I have no clue, and the interior doesn't trigger any memories either. We're shown to a booth in the corner that's probably the most secluded of the tables, and I wonder if Noah set this up ahead of time or if we just have that look of wanting privacy.

"So, are you going to tell me why we're here?" I finally give in and ask.

"Patience, Shelly." Noah laughs, perusing the menu.

I don't need to look at the menu, because Dinah has already informed me that she requires a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake on the side, and every diner has those. Instead I keep scanning the interior, looking for anything to jog my memory. There's no way Noah picked this place at random, we must have been here at some point. The mystery is driving me nuts and I feel guilty about having forgotten something meaningful to him.

I'm still puzzled by the time the waitress has taken our order and left us alone again. "Seriously, are you going to tell me if I'm supposed to recognize this place? Because I feel terrible about it, but I have no idea."

"You'll figure it out eventually, just like I did." Noah's smirking like my frustration amuses him. I guess it's good that he doesn't seem surprised, or offended, that I can't remember.

Finally it hits me when I see a waitress carrying an ice cream sundae to a nearby table; I _do_ remember this place, I just hadn't been thinking back far enough.

"Wait—is this the place we got stranded? Sophomore year? When your mom made you drive me to my game and you were so obnoxious about it?"

"I was not _obnoxious_ , Shelly."

Oh, but he was, at least at first. At some point spring of my sophomore year, I'd had an away soccer match on a day Dad had to be elsewhere with Brad, and June was planning to drive me. Except that morning Lee tripped and gashed his chin, and so June instructed an annoyed Noah to drive me to my game while she took Lee to get stitches. Noah grumbled all the way there about having to play chauffeur, and his griping only got worse when it started to rain near the end of the game. When the rain started coming down in sheets and the thunder turned dramatic soon after we started driving home, Noah pulled in at the first place he saw to wait out the storm.

I remember being miserable in my sodden uniform and shivering so much that Noah braved the downpour again to retrieve his gym bag from the car, and I remember we were both a little less grumpy once we were in dry clothes, even if I did look ridiculous in his sweatshirt and a pair of athletic shorts staying up only thanks to their drawstring. And then Noah made fun of me for ordering an ice cream sundae minutes after complaining about being freezing cold. That's about all I remember, though. That, and that we'd been stuck here for hours, long enough that by the end of it we'd run out of things to argue about and had actually gotten along. But I'm still not sure I'd have put this place high on a tour of our relationship milestones.

"So you brought me here to remind me that we used to argue a lot?" I ask him.

"Not quite. And we still argue a lot." Noah reasonably points out.

"Differently, though. Now I know how to shut you up. So, why _are_ we here, then?"

"Because of the second time I came here."

"Do I need to try and remember that time, too?"

"No, that time was just me. Are you going to keep interrupting? I have a story I'm trying to tell."

I mime zipping my lips. I do very much want to hear this story.

"That night of the kissing booth, after I dropped you off, I didn't feel like going home. So, I just kept riding. It was actually a nice night once the rain stopped, and, I don't know, I guess being out on the road was helping to clear my head. And my head needed a _lot_ of clearing. Eventually I saw this place and figured I could use some coffee before turning around and going home. So I was sitting here, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened between us that night, and then suddenly I realized I'd been here before. With you. And everything kind of... fell into place. Made sense, finally."

"What did?"

"The kiss. My reaction to it. And a lot of stuff leading up to that day."

"Yeah?" He's never told me this story, and the nervous way he's rubbing at his neck melts me.

"You're right that I was being obnoxious that afternoon the rain stranded us. I'd had plans for the day and they hadn't been to chauffeur you around, let alone get stuck here. But then, I don't know, whatever it was you were babbling on about kept making me laugh, and I realized it had been forever since I'd talked to you without Lee around, and that you weren't nearly as annoying without him."

I flick Noah's hand with a glare, but he just shrugs it off, looking not the least contrite.

"Hey, it's the truth. Anyway, we were getting along decently, or at least arguing less than usual, and at one point the storm really picked up and you made this comment about how your mom loved listening to rain beat down against the skylights at your house. And then you just kind of... crumbled. And I had no idea what to do, and everything I tried saying came out sounding stupid, and finally you told me to ignore the crying and just keep going with whatever dumb school stories I'd been telling."

I don't remember this part, but that sounds about right for that spring. Long enough since Mom died to sometimes go entire hours without thinking about her, not nearly enough time not to fall apart at least once a day.

"So I just kept finding random stuff to tell you. At some point you got mad about something I said and that seemed to cheer you up, so after that I kept looking for ridiculous reasons to tease you, and you fought back in kind, and eventually we were laughing like lunatics about absolutely nothing."

"Didn't the waitress actually shush us once, and threaten to kick us back out into the rain?" I ask, and Noah just nods with a grin.

My memories of that afternoon are sharpening the longer we talk about it. It was so rare for me to get more than a few minutes alone with Noah back then, which I'd only recently realized I craved.

"Did you know I'd had a date that night? The day we got stuck here, I mean." Noah suddenly asks.

"Not really, no. You got around a lot back then; I didn't keep track of your flings. Who with?"

"I have no idea. That's not the part I remember." Noah smiles.

I think I've guessed where this is going. "Oh yeah? So which part _do_ you remember?"

"What I remember is looking outside, seeing the rain was basically gone, and realizing I was disappointed. So I sent whoever she was a message saying I couldn't make it, and then I ordered another basket of fries because I knew there was no way you'd want to leave as long as there were still fries."

"You held me hostage with fries?"

"You didn't look like you were in any hurry to leave, either."

"I wasn't. You were proving a lot more tolerable when you weren't focused on harassing Lee."

"Sounds about right," Noah concedes. "Anyway, when I ended up back here after we'd kissed, I guess that's when I realized that I'd fallen for you that day we were stranded. Well, fallen the rest of the way. I didn't have far left to fall, even if I hadn't noticed yet. I couldn't stop watching you after that afternoon, couldn't stop listening to you. Which was kind of a problem when you were _always there_. You and Lee, constantly just close enough that I couldn't concentrate on a damn thing. And _then_ I swear you started avoiding me. Which should have been a relief, except it just made it worse. ... Yes, Elle?" Noah must have seen me wince at that last part.

"I, uh, I _was_ avoiding you," I admit sheepishly. "Because I had a crush on you, and I was trying very hard to not have a crush on you. Or at least not embarrass myself while waiting for the crush to fade." It's weirdly mortifying to admit this, even if he's basically admitting the same thing.

"Well, I'm glad I wasn't imagining things, at least. So, anyway, that's why I wanted to come back here with you. Because this is where I finally realized that I was crazy about you and that I wanted to do something about it, not get over it."

"So this is how you'd planned to propose? Over fries and a chocolate shake?"

Noah rolls his eyes at me. "Well, last week I also had a dinner reservation somewhere nicer, but yeah, the plan was to come here afterwards for coffee and ice cream. I figured it wouldn't hurt to surround you with the things most important to you, in the hopes you'd agree to put me in that category too."

"You think you rank with coffee and ice cream?" I tease him. We glare at each other a moment, and I crack first. "Fine. You're way, way ahead."

"I'm touched. Truly." Noah returns my goofy grin while reaching across the table for my shake.

"Noah?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I said you outranked coffee and ice cream, not that you could steal them at will. You still have to ask."

"Is there any chance you'd say yes, if I did ask?"

"If you asked what? Are we still talking about this shake, or did you have some other question planned for this romantic diner date?" I smirk.

"No more questions. You asked, I said yes. I'm not rolling the dice again."

"I think you need to say it too. You made _me_ say it." I remind him.

"You know, this isn't normally a two-step process. One person asks, the other one says yes, that's usually enough. But since I _had_ been looking forward to asking, and since I don't foresee any other opportunities to propose to someone..."

Noah leans forward on his forearms, taking my hands. Yeah, I definitely want him to do this, even if we've already decided.

"I didn't have this part specifically planned out, so bear with me, but I was thinking something like this. Elle, I can't remember the last time I went a day without thinking about you. Not even those years we were broken up—I just learned to live with it. And then October—I don't know what I expected, I just knew I had to go see you. And once I did... god, it didn't seem possible to get that lucky. To be with you again and feel even happier than I remembered. And then—well, we've talked enough about it. I don't want to think about it right now."

I squeeze his hands in silent agreement.

"The point is, I've been in love with you for years, even when I had no clue, and even when I didn't want to be. And I think you know what I mean, because I think it's been the same for you. The feelings never change, just what we do about them, and I sure as hell like it better when we're together.

"So what I'm saying is that we don't _need_ to get married. It's not going to change how I feel, and I'm going to be there regardless. I know it won't change how you feel, either. But do I _want_ to marry you? Yeah. Because it's the easiest way to tell everybody else how I feel, even if I know you already know.

"And I guess now this proposal is completely irrelevant. Not only do we not need this to know how we feel about each other, but we already decided to. But I don't care. I've been looking forward to proposing to you for a long time, and I'm not skipping getting to hear you say yes. So —"

Noah pauses, looking lost for a second, then shakes his head with a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, apparently in all that time looking forward to this I didn't think up a more original way of saying this. But maybe simple is best. Elle, will you marry me?"

The tears that I've been holding back finally defeat me, and I need a moment to catch my breath before I can actually answer. He's right that we don't need this, that we've already decided—not just earlier today, but long before we were willing to admit it. But saying it still means everything.

"Yeah, I don't have a more original way to say it either," I laugh, "so just... yes. A million times."

Noah leans all the way across the table to kiss me, and I'm not the only one both laughing and crying. And then I can't help giggling at what has to be the least important part of all this, but in my giddiness it's all I can think about.

"You managed not to call me Shelly. I'm shocked." I tease him.

"I may have reminded myself not to do that a few hundred times on the drive here. Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do." Noah grins, sitting back.

"And is this a new policy, or just a special proposal courtesy?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see."


	51. Crazy

**_(Elle)_**

I guess I will have to wait and see. But he knows as well as I do that I don't actually want him to stop. I stare goofily at him, still having trouble believing we finally made it here.

"Oh! We forgot about the ring!" I suddenly realize.

"We did a lot of things out of order. And would now be a good time to admit I didn't actually get you an engagement ring?" Noah asks with a chuckle as he retrieves the jeweler's box from his pocket.

"Really? So you were just carrying an empty ring box around to freak me out? Or, wait, did you _plan_ this whole thing? Was this all a giant set-up where you figured the best way to get me to make up my mind was to make me think _you_ were about to propose?"

"No, although I'm flattered you think I'm that wily. Or insulted you think I'm that underhanded. Either way, I _did_ get you a ring. It's just not an engagement ring."

"How is a ring you got to propose to me with not an engagement ring?" I ask curiously.

"You mentioned once there was a ring of your mom's you wanted to make into a ring for yourself. So I thought now might be the right time... but I can't do that without you. So I figured I'd get something else to propose with, and then we'd figure out the engagement ring."

"I told you that? About my mom's ring?" I wonder if I look as surprised as I feel.

"No... but you told my mom, and I overheard."

" _When_?" I have no memory of this, and talking to June about rings would have been weird while Noah and I were together, when she was already heavily hinting at her hopes for us.

"I don't know—a while ago. We were all having lunch, and your dad had just given you that star necklace. I guess that's why you and Mom were talking about jewelry."

"The star necklace? But we weren't dating then. You were taking notes on engagement rings when I was _fifteen_?"

Noah rolls his eyes at me. "No. I was just... listening to you. And that's what you were talking about, that particular day."

"And you stored away that information just in case seven years later you decided to propose to me?"

"You make it sound so calculated. No, back then I didn't imagine I'd ever need the information. I just liked listening to you talk. And then I remembered about it this spring."

Of course he did. That's what he does, he remembers. Everything. And it usually leads to what's happening now, which is me trying not to cry again.

"Anyway, so that's why _this_ isn't an engagement ring, because I wanted you to have a chance to use your mom's ring. Or whatever else, if that's not actually what you want." Noah adds.

The trying not to cry isn't going well, and since words are failing me I settle for squeezing his hand until I feel steady enough to speak.

"It _is_ what I want. It hadn't occurred to me to use her ring this way, but it would be perfect. Really."

The ring he'd overheard me talking about is actually my great-great grandmother's ring, a milky opal in an intricate filigree setting. The opal has gotten battered over the years—Mom was of the opinion that there's no point owning jewelry if it's just going to live in a box, so she wore the ring often—but I love the delicate lacy scrollwork of the setting and I'd always thought one day I might replace the opal with a different stone. I'd never imagined using it for an engagement ring, but now I desperately want to.

"Are you sure? I don't remember your mom's rings, so if this isn't the right kind of ring for —"

"Noah," I cut him off. "No take-backs. This is what I want. I wish I had a picture I could show you, but it'll be perfect. And then I'll get to wear it every day." I lean across the table to kiss him, glad for the relative privacy of our booth.

We sit in silence a minute, just enjoying the moment, and then finally I crack.

"So... _is_ there anything in that box?"

"This box here, you mean? Oh, yeah." Noah feigns indifference, pretending to be captivated by the menu again.

"Is it a ring-pop? Or something from a Cracker Jack box that I'm going to feel bad not remembering that I gave you ten years ago? Ooooh, is it one of those giant fake diamond rings from that booth at the mall?"

"No, it's a real ring, not a joke. I figured the point of asking you to marry me was hoping you'd need one of these soon, and in this case I was pretty sure I knew what you'd like."

Noah slides the box closer to me, still grinning slyly. "Take a look."

I think I've guessed now, and I reach for the little box that set off this whole weird week. I lift the lid and discover I was right: it's a wedding ring, a simple gold band inset with diamonds and rubies scattered all the way around, square-cut just like those in my bracelet.

"You bought me a wedding ring." I state the obvious.

"Yeah." His smile is almost shy.

"To match my bracelet."

"You wear that every day, and I was hoping you'd wear this every day, too."

"You're very good at this." I whisper.

Now his smile has regained some of its usual swagger.

"Too bad I won't get to use these skills again."

"The proposal skills? Yeah, you'd better be done with those."

I stare at the ring a minute longer. "Can I try it on? Even if it's not for right now?"

"I was hoping you would. And you can wear it now, if you want. It _is_ an engagement ring, too, until we can get the other one ready."

I slide the ring on and it fits perfectly. "Did you steal one of my rings to size this?" I ask curiously.

"Mickey did." Noah admits.

"You told Mickey you were going to propose and she didn't warn you I'd probably be an idiot and need a whole week to say yes?"

"Ah, no," Noah chuckles. "But when I asked her to send me a picture of your mom's bracelet, so I could make sure those earrings would match it, I guess she decided to be proactive and also send me your ring size."

Yeah, that sounds like something Mickey would do. I twist the ring around a few times, getting used to the feeling of it.

"I didn't know if this would work with your mom's ring, though. We could look for something else, if it doesn't." Noah offers.

"No way. I love this. If it doesn't fit with my mom's ring, I'll wear that one on my other hand. But you have to get a matching wedding band. That's my one condition. I want our rings to match."

The ring is perfect and now that it's on I hate the idea of taking it off, but it also looks way too much like a wedding ring to wear as an engagement ring. Maybe I could wear it on a necklace, so I can have it with me but save wearing it for once it means everything it should. Once it's a vow and not just a promise.

Except... don't those mean the same thing, a vow and a promise? At least, they _should_. I wouldn't have put myself through this whole week of hand-wringing if I'd been willing to take engagement less seriously than marriage. I want to marry Noah, not just be engaged to Noah. I'm still staring at the ring, still getting used to its presence on my hand, and suddenly I know exactly what I want.

"Hey, Noah?" I reach for his hand to get his attention again.

"Yeah?"

"Let's get married."

"Are we going to take turns proposing to each other now? I like the idea, but once each seems like enough." He's grinning at me, and I realize I need to be clearer.

"No—I mean, let's get _married_. Not just engaged, married. Now, before the baby."

" _What_?" He'd been about to take a bite of his dinner and suddenly his fork falls back to his plate, forgotten.

"I don't want to wait. I want us to be married. If we're going to do this, and we just agreed we are, why not do it now?"

"Elle, you're due in less than a month. There's no way we can get married that fast." Noah's staring at me, dumbfounded.

"Sure we can. We just need to go to city hall, sign some papers, say _I do_. We could probably be married tomorrow if we wanted."

"Don't you want people to be there? We haven't even told anyone we're engaged. We can't just spring a wedding on them without warning." He's raising reasonable objections, but his eyes tell a different story.

"The important people could be there. Our parents, Lee, Brad. I'm pretty sure they'd be happy to clear their schedules on short notice if it meant the two of us getting married. And we can have a party with friends later, next year. We can even have another ceremony then, do the whole big wedding thing, if you want. But I want us to get _married_ now."

"Elle, if it's all that legal stuff Dad keeps nagging about, we don't have to rush just for that."

"It's not that, I promise. It's just... it's not being _engaged_ to you that I want, it's being _married_ to you. And I want us to do this parenting thing together from the start. Officially together. I don't need to... hedge my bets or wait and see. I'm all in. I don't want to wait."

"You're crazy."

The impulse comes over me before I can think better of it and I drop my voice an octave before responding. "Crazy about you, Noah."

"Did you — you did not just say that." Noah sputters, and I laugh at the look on his face.

"Oh, but I did. I did say it. It's a great line, isn't it? Really persuasive."

"It's _my_ line." Noah protests indignantly, and there is nothing I love more than knocking him off balance.

"Ah, but what's yours is mine, right? Or soon enough, anyway." I tease.

"Elle, this is serious."

"Yeah, it is. And it was just as serious when _you_ used that line. Or at least it was for me, on the scale of my life at the time. And now would be a really bad time for you to finally reveal _you_ weren't serious then."

Noah lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, I was serious. Maybe not fully aware exactly what we were getting into... but I meant it. And I still do."

"Good. Because I'm dead serious about this too. So we're doing this. We're getting married. _Now_." I conclude in triumph.

"You're crazy. But yes." Noah shakes his head, a grin taking over his face.

"Crazy about —"

Noah swoops across the table to silence me with a kiss. "Elle, seriously, you have to stop saying that. Or at least stop trying to sound like me while also trying to seduce me. It's just—all kinds of disturbing."

Laughing, I tug at his arm. "Come sit next to me if you're going to keep doing that. If they glare at us for cuddling, I'll explain I just convinced you to marry me. And then you can tell them your story about this diner. It's a good story."

Noah slides into my side of the booth, wrapping an arm around me to let me lean back against him.

"Fine. If you're sure this is what you want, I'm sure as hell not going to object. But I do have one condition to this ridiculous plan. _You_ have to be the one to tell my mom this wedding is happening _right now_." Noah chuckles.

"We could not tell anyone. Get married just the two of us, just for us, and have a big wedding later for everyone else. Tell them about the engagement, but not the wedding. This is for us."

"No, no more secrets. If you don't care about having a big wedding, and I definitely don't, we're not going to hide this just to cater to what other people might want. And besides, I promised your dad."

"You talked to my dad about weddings? Before _we_ decided to?"

"Not recently—in the hospital, remember? When he found out I'd pretended to be his son in law. I promised him then that if we actually got married, we'd tell him beforehand."

"Oh, that. You do know he was high on painkillers and probably doesn't remember, right?"

"Doesn't matter; I remember. And even if I hadn't promised, he'd still kill me if we did this secretly. Not to mention my mom. So if you want us to get married before Dinah shows up, and you want me to still be _alive_ when Dinah shows up, then we're telling our families."

"Fine. But—tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight is for us."

And in the meantime, until we can make this wedding happen, I'm keeping this ring on. It may not be official yet, but the decision was made a long time ago. I'm marrying Noah Flynn.


	52. Details to be Determined

**_(Noah)_**

I've been awake and watching Elle sleep for at least an hour now. Not continuously; I've also gotten up, showered, dressed, unpacked the suitcase I'd taken to New York, and made coffee. But in between those accomplishments, I keep coming back to our room and pausing to watch her sleep. She's still wearing the ring and I'm glad for the reminder that yesterday actually happened, because the memory of it feels like one long, weird dream. But no, it was all real. I spent the week convincing myself to be patient and then Elle informed me that we were getting married. _Now_. Which thrills me every time I remember, even if I don't yet have any idea how we're going to manage that.

Elle still doesn't look interested in waking up, and I wander back to the living room to find more to distract myself with. I guess the plan for today is going to be telling our parents, although that may need to wait for this evening, when Mike gets back from work. Maybe we'll go tell my mom first. I think Elle would like that. Mom's going to go into full emergency planning mode the second she finds out, though, so Elle and I should talk about when and how we want this wedding to happen before we head over there.

An alarm on my phone goes off, and I can't figure out why at first. The description just says "Rams - Adam," and eventually I remember that today is the day 'Niners tickets go on sale and that Adam and I were hoping to see them play the Rams in September. Yeah, so that's not happening, and it's weird to think how radically life has changed since I set that alarm. Back then I expected that in September I'd be settling into my third year teaching, maybe starting to plot my next move. I don't really know where I expected things to stand with Elle by then, but I'd probably have told you that we were over, ignoring that quiet voice that still believed we'd work things out. But I definitely didn't expect that within months of creating that calendar alert I'd have left San Francisco, gotten a new job, and oh yeah, be living with Elle and planning to marry her. Not to mention hoping to do so _soon_ , before we become parents.

I send Adam a picture of the calendar alert with the caption _sorry - find yourself a new date_ , and I'm surprised to see him start typing back almost immediately. And suddenly I feel like sharing the news. Elle surely won't mind if I tell Adam, and we just won't tell our parents they weren't first to find out. I hit _call_ before Adam's done typing.

"Man, you really miss me, don't you? I get it, I'm awesome." Adam laughs in lieu of saying hello.

"Yeah, definitely why I'm calling."

"No? Ah, so it's more of my excellent advice you seek. Still trying to convince Elle?"

"Nope. Just calling to let you know you've been promoted."

"Promoted?"

"I said you'd be seventh to know, but you're up before anyone else so you get to be first."

"First what? ... _oh_. Shit, really?"

"Really." Even if I can't quite believe it either.

"Damn. That's awesome. Seriously? You managed to convince her?"

"You've met Elle. There's no such thing as convincing her."

"Right. You managed to subtly suggest reasons why she might want to independently change her mind?"

"I said absolutely nothing about marriage all week, I left for the weekend, I came back and told her that she was right about waiting, she proposed."

There's a long pause, and then Adam laughs. "You have no idea how much Elle's Elle-ness and your utter weakness to it delight me."

"Then you're going to enjoy this part. How's your schedule looking for the next couple weeks? Think you could come down here?"

"Trying to squeeze an engagement party in before the baby ruins your social lives?"

"No. Think... Crazier. Elle-ier."

Adam is silent for a moment.

"Holy shit," he whispers fervently after a beat. "Please please _please_ tell me you're throwing an honest to goodness shotgun wedding. Please."

"Minus the shotgun, but yeah. Think you can make it?"

"Are you kidding me? There are no plans I wouldn't cancel to witness this. Can I come down today?"

"I'm getting the impression that it's less that you're happy for us and more that you're bored and in need of entertainment."

"Why not both? I am very happy for you. _And_ I wouldn't miss this circus for the world. So, when? Where?"

"We haven't figured any of that out yet. But soon, obviously."

Adam and I stay on the phone a while, and I end up telling him most of yesterday's craziness. He asks what changed Elle's mind, and I realize I don't have an answer for him. I'm not sure I need one, either. Elle said something about realizing we'd made this decision long ago and not needing more time, and I see no reason to second-guess her. Maybe I'm curious, but I don't _need_ to know; I trust Elle.

Elle's _still_ asleep when I get off the phone, so I go check out what she and Mom did to the nursery while I was gone. A room decorated with penguins shouldn't be this intimidating, but it kind of is. For months I've been telling myself not to worry about the baby part because we'd figure it out on the fly, but now the prospect is getting unsettlingly close. Whether Dinah shows up on time or a little early or a little late, all of those are incredibly soon.

And I can't help dreading that arrival, just a little. Not because I don't want this, but... I'd like more time. More time with Elle as just the two of us. More time to settle in to living together. More time as each other's first priority. And now, getting married is going to consume most of the limited time we have left. There's no doubt this is what I want—Dinah, our crazy wedding plans, all of it—I just wish there were some way to squeeze a few more months into the timeline.

I don't want to put off getting married—Elle's right, why wait when we know what we want—but maybe I shouldn't have nixed a secret elopement. We've got less than a month left, and the idea of spending any more of that time on wedding planning than absolutely necessary is not appealing. But I do also want our family and closest friends there. Maybe this is another of those situations where we need to forget about what would be ideal and just enjoy the imperfect reality. We'll get married, somehow, we'll make the most of our last weeks on our own, somehow, and we'll figure out this baby thing, somehow. None of it will be perfect but all of it will be worth it.

* * *

The next time I walk into our room, Elle is finally awake but still in bed, checking her phone. She looks pale, and I'm guessing she's woken up feeling queasy again. She claims that's normal for this late in pregnancy, but I still hate to see it. At least this time around I'm here.

"Do you need seltzer?" That's what usually does the trick. Lime seltzer, specifically. I made the mistake of bringing her lemon once last week, and I was informed that's completely different and not at all adequate.

"Is it that obvious?"

"A little. I'll go grab one."

Elle is sitting up by the time I return, and she takes the can of seltzer gratefully.

"Adam says hi. And congratulations." I tell her as I sit down at the foot of the bed.

Elle nods distractedly at the first part, then looks up sharply. "You told Adam?"

"Yeah. I needed to talk to him about something else, and then I just felt like telling him. Should I not have?"

"No, it's fine, it's not like Adam's going to tip off your mom before we can tell her. But I do want you to know that I was just now texting with Mickey and doing my absolute best _not_ to tell her yet. So I want this noted for the record for the next time you claim I'm the one who can't keep secrets from friends."

"Go ahead and tell Mickey. And I know we talked about just needing our family there, but I was thinking we should invite her. And Adam."

"Because you already invited him?" Elle guesses, smiling. "Yeah, you did. I know that face. But that sounds good, and I'm sure Mickey will be around. I'm not telling her yet, though. _She_ actually _might_ call your mom immediately and spill the beans, so they can start losing their minds planning. I'll tell her once our parents know."

"How do you want to tell them? Do you want to tell your dad first?"

"He'll be at work all day. Let's start with your mom. And Lee, if he's home. Dad isn't going to mind if they know before he does. Is your dad in town?"

"Yeah, but probably in meetings all day. And we should talk a little about what we want and when we want to do it before we go over there and Mom demands details."

"Ugh, you're right. Well, it can't be this weekend, Lee will be gone. So I guess the next weekend? Or do you think Adam could make it on a weekday?"

"He's teaching summer school, but I think he could find a way. Waiting for the next weekend might be cutting it close." I point out.

"That's still two weeks before my due date, and first babies are always late, or so everyone tells me. But let's say sometime next week or weekend."

Elle reaches for my arm to tug me closer, and I scoot back on the bed until I'm sitting against the headboard with her. I've quickly become fond of these lazy mornings on our own, in our own place, and I feel a flash of regret that we're not going to get too many more before life gets crazy.

"Where? City Hall? If they even do weddings there. I mean, people always talk about getting married at City Hall like that's a thing, but I've never actually been, much less for a wedding." Elle comments.

"Me neither. One of my students did get married at the courthouse last year, and it was surprisingly nice. But that was in San Francisco."

"One of your _students_?" Elle stares at me, aghast. "Like, a high schooler? I hate my hypocritical self for asking this, but... was she pregnant?"

"Oh, no. More like the opposite, I suspect." I laugh.

"The opposite? The opposite of pregnant is just... not pregnant. That's not a reason to get married in high school."

"This was right after they graduated. And what I meant was that I'm pretty sure they were getting married for the same reason she wasn't pregnant. Because they were both from very, very traditional families. _Very_. Hence the desire to get married _as soon as possible_." I grin at Elle, and I can tell from her expression once she gets what I mean.

"Wow. I can't even imagine."

"Yeah, I'm aware." I'm smirking at her, and I fully deserve the murderous look I get in return.

"Oh, like you're one to talk." Elle mutters.

"Never said I was. Anyway, we're getting off track. I don't overly care where we do this, but I'd rather it not be some depressing office."

"Me neither. But people get married all sorts of random places, right? Like in parks and stuff. I'm sure we can find something."

"Alright, so we've made great planning progress. We're getting married next week on a day not yet determined, in some random place not yet determined."

"Maybe we _should_ just tell your mom and let her start throwing ideas at us."

* * *

Mom is reading the paper in the breakfast nook when we find her.

"I heard from Mike you flew home early. Too busy to tell me?" Mom glares lightly.

"Yeah, kind of. Ask Elle about it," I tell her as she stands to pull Elle in for a hug.

Elle sits down next to my mom, and I can tell she's psyching herself up to make the announcement when I see Mom's eyes widen and I hear her sharp intake of breath before she turns to stare me down.

"Noah Flynn, would you care to explain that wedding ring?"

"I mean, it seems pretty self-explanatory," I shrug, taking a seat across from Elle.

"Noah!" Elle yelps, lunging across the table to smack my shoulder. "It's not a wedding ring, June. I mean, it _is_ a wedding ring. But not yet. It's a ring for when we get married. Which we're going to do, but haven't yet. Which is what we came over to tell you," she explains in a rush.

"You're engaged? Really?" Mom's tone has melted.

I just grin and look to Elle, who finally replies. "Yeah, really."

I was expecting Mom to grab Elle for another hug, so I'm caught by surprise when I'm the one she reaches for first, squeezing me almost painfully tight before releasing me with a laugh.

" _Finally_."

I'm not going to ask exactly how long Mom means she's been waiting for this, but I'm guessing she's got years in mind when she says _finally_ , not just this spring. She takes Elle's hands and they just look at each other, sharing a wordless moment.

"Have you told your dad yet?" Mom finally asks her.

"No, that's next. Well, and Lee—is he home?"

Mom laughs. "Home and snoring. He rolled in from wherever he was last night just as I was getting up and I'm pretty sure he's still asleep."

"So no rush there, I guess. Is Matthew at work? I was thinking we could tell him and Dad and Brad all together tonight."

"I'll invite your dad for dinner. I'll leave announcing why we're having a family dinner up to you two, though."

I've been trying to catch Elle's attention, trying to remind her that there's more she needs to be announcing, but Mom ends up giving me the opening I need.

"I know it's too early to bug you about this, but do you have any guesses when you'd want to get married? Maybe next spring?"

"Oh, Elle definitely has some ideas about timing. Elle?" I stare at her and she blushes, ducking her head.

"I, ah, we were thinking sooner. A lot sooner." Elle admits, Mom eyeing her with curiosity. "We'd actually like to do this now."

" _Now_?" Mom exclaims, probably louder than she intended. "As in _right now_?"

"I mean, not today. But... next week?"

Mom stares at me and then at Elle, and then back at me before bursting out laughing.

"I should have guessed. I'd ask if you're being serious or playing a prank on me, but I can tell the answer from your faces." Mom's own expression turns serious. "This isn't because you think you have to or that we're expecting this, is it? This is what _you_ want?"

Elle responds before I can. "It's what _I_ wanted, and I convinced Noah. But not because of anyone else."

"I didn't actually need convincing." I interject, and Mom laughs.

"And we know it's too short notice to invite people," Elle continues, "but we were thinking we could have a big party next year. Maybe for our anniversary. But the actually getting married part, we want to do now. Even if it's just our immediate families and a couple friends."

Mom gives us another long, appraising look, then nods resolutely. "Alright. We can make this happen. This is going to be crazy, but in the best way. Either here or at City Hall are probably the easiest locations on such short notice, and I bet my friend Carol —"

I can see Mom shifting into planning mode, and I realize something.

"Actually, Mom—is there any way _you_ could make this happen?"

Elle looks at me curiously, and probably I should have run this past her first, but if she disagrees I hope she'll say so.

"It's just—Elle and I have so little time left to ourselves, before the baby. And I really don't care about the specifics of how all this happens as long as we end up married. I mean, I do care, but I'm sure I'd be fine with anything you come up with. Elle, feel free to object, because we'll do whatever you want, but I'd really rather spend the next few weeks just being with you. Not... figuring out logistics."

Elle hasn't said anything yet, but she doesn't seem to hate the idea. Mom definitely looks game.

"I'd still need you two for some of the planning, but if Elle doesn't mind... I'd be happy to take care of all the details for you. Noah's right, you two have better uses for your time right now." Mom agrees, looking to Elle for her reaction.

"That sounds... really great. And I'm sure I'd love whatever you planned. But I feel guilty dumping all the work on you when getting married on two weeks' notice was my crazy idea."

"Oh, Elle, don't even think of it that way. I'd be thrilled to, I promise."

Mom and I both watch Elle as she twists her ring around contemplatively, then looks up with an impish smile.

"Yeah, let's do this. Or, I guess, let's _not_ do this and let's let _you_ do this, instead. Since I'm pretty sure you've already been planning this for a while."

I give Mom a long grateful look, and I can tell she gets it. Her taking this on for us, giving us some of these precious last few weeks back, is the best wedding present she could give us.

* * *

 ** _(Elle)_**

Lee groggily rubs at his eyes as he sits up, and I hand him a mug of coffee before perching on the edge of his bed. I'd asked Noah on the drive over here whether he'd mind if I told Lee on my own, and we'd agreed that was the best approach.

"You look like you're going to need a lot more coffee than just this," I laugh at Lee's barely-conscious expression.

"Thanks. There was this party at Josh's... I fell asleep on a couch at some point... and then I woke up way too soon and drove home. We weren't even drunk, just... hanging out. There were video games, I think. Ohhh, and one of his friends was _hot_."

"Ah, staying up late. I remember that, I think. Before I needed twelve hours of sleep to function."

"I'm sure you'll be up all hours of the night again soon enough. At least, that's how I hear newborns operate."

I flop back against the pillows next to him, groaning. "Please, don't remind me."

"Holy shit. How long was I asleep?" Lee suddenly sounds a lot more awake, and I realize he's staring at my left hand.

"Oh, this?" I ask him with a teasing voice as I lift my hand, wriggling my fingers.

" _Elle_! Did you guys seriously—I mean, _without me_?" Lee looks equal parts hurt and confused, and Noah was right—eloping and keeping it secret would have been a terrible idea.

"Relax. Of course we didn't... yet."

" _Yet_?" Lee is still staring at me, and now the look on his face sets me giggling.

"Good morning, future brother in law."

"Oh god, please never ever call me that again," Lee grimaces. "It's just too weird. But seriously? You guys got engaged?"

Lee doesn't even wait for me to confirm before pulling me into an extended, somewhat tearful, hug. I know he'll probably never not think this is weird, but I'm relieved we found a way to make this triangle work. I don't think there's any way Noah and I could have survived Lee's opposition, or made it without his help.

"You do know that looks exactly like a wedding ring, right? I didn't realize my dumbass brother needed engagement rings explained." Lee asks after finally releasing me, taking my hand to get a closer look.

"Oh, shut up. Because it _is_ a wedding ring, jerk, or at least it will be eventually. But right now it's an engagement ring. It's a long story." And his dumbass brother is actually brilliant at meaningful gifts, but Lee hates hearing those stories.

"Damn. Wait, isn't Noah in New York still? How —"

"He missed me too much, so he came home yesterday. And then I proposed."

" _You_ proposed?" Lee's eyebrows rise.

"Well, first I told him _he_ could, but he said I had to, because I was the one who wouldn't let him propose last weekend... I guess I need to tell you _that_ story, too. But that's how I ended up proposing. But then I made _him_ ask me, too. Like I said, it's a very long story."

"Holy shit." Lee says again, this time looking more delighted than alarmed. "I kind of can't believe you two actually did it. I mean, at this point I figured it would be after the baby. Or maybe never, to prove some kind of stubborn point. Does Mom know yet?"

"You didn't hear that screech ten minutes ago?"

"That does explain a lot. She must be thrilled."

"Well, right now she's a little busy. The engagement news wasn't why she screamed."

Lee looks confused. "Why, then?"

"Are you in town next weekend? Not this coming weekend, the next."

"Yeah. Why?"

I just grin at him.

"Elle, _why_?"

"If you're not busy, want to go to a wedding?"

"Whose wedding?" Lee is still lost, and then I see his brain catch up and understand. "Wait— _your_ wedding? You're getting married _now_?"

"No, I just feel like crashing a random wedding to get theme ideas. Of course _my_ wedding, you idiot."

"You're getting married. In two weeks. _Less_ than two weeks. Wow. No wonder Mom screamed. Do I need to go check on her? I'm glad you two finally wised up, but I'm going to be mad if you make my mom go insane."

"Oh, relax. She's fine, and she's thrilled. She's already on the phone scouting locations. You know she loves a good organizational challenge."

"Wow. I, just... You're actually doing this."

Lee looks a little dazed. I snuggle in closer to him, leaning my head on his shoulder like a hundred prior heart-to-hearts, but few of them quite this momentous.

"I wasn't thinking we'd get married right away when I proposed. But once we'd decided that, I don't know, I was just done waiting. We've wasted enough time. So I convinced Noah we should do this now."

Lee snorts. "Yeah—I'm sure _that_ was a tough argument to win. He's probably mad you're making him wait two weeks instead of getting married today."

"Oh, shush. He's the one who nixed eloping, you know."

"Yeah, and rightly so, because our parents would kill you. Both of you. As would I. You _are_ inviting us to this wedding, right?"

"Of course. And Adam, and probably Mickey. And then next year we'll have a big party for everyone else."

"I call dibs on best man."

"Talk to Noah."

"No, not for him. For you. Mickey's awesome, but I've earned this."

"Do I _get_ a best man?"

"It's your wedding. You get whatever you want."

"And what if Noah wants a best man? You're his brother. I can't steal you."

Lee quirks an eyebrow, smiling oddly. "You mean like he stole you?" He's joking, but also... not.

"Are we really having this conversation again? Today?"

Lee shakes his head, laughing. "No, of course not. I'm just pointing out that Noah can deal if I pick you over him."

"I don't think this is going to be the kind of wedding with a best man, anyway. Just... us and our most important people. You don't need titles. But we'll figure it out."

Lee and I stay like that, just talking, for almost an hour until Noah shows up to check on us. By then I've told Lee all of it, from last weekend's painful non-proposal to yesterday's epiphanies and decisions, but leaving out the part about the box he'd never told me to look out for. I do plan to tell Noah that I was never ignoring his last attempt to reach out, but there's no point making Lee feel bad over ancient history. Besides, Lee's done a lot more to get us to this point than he has to inadvertently slow us down.

"Can I steal Elle back now? Mom's deep into wedding planning and it's our chance to make our escape." Noah asks, leaning against Lee's desk.

Lee turns to me with a triumphant look. " _See_? He _admits_ he steals you."

Noah doesn't look particularly curious about the elbow jab I give Lee, but I guess it's par for the course for us.

Lee follows me off the bed, crossing his room to pull Noah into a hug. He mutters something that makes Noah roll his eyes, but they're both smiling, and I tell Lee we'll see him again at dinner and not to spill the news to anyone in the meantime.

* * *

"You're not mad I asked Mom to take over the planning, are you?" Noah asks as we drive away.

"Are you kidding me? That was genius. Besides, we can get our fill of planning next year if we want, for round two."

"I just... would rather we spend the next few weeks not running around more than we have to."

"I already told you, this is perfect. Do you think your mom will need to see us in person to get this planned, or could we go sit on a beach for two weeks?"

"You're not traveling anywhere." Noah reminds me.

"We have beaches _right here_. But I was mostly joking."

It's not until we're almost home that I remember what I'd wanted to ask Noah.

"What did Lee tell you? Earlier, when he hugged you and you made a face at him."

Noah looks briefly confused, then smirks. "Same thing he's been telling me for six years."

"Which is?"

" _Screw this up and I'll kill you_."

"You don't look concerned."

"I'm not. I don't plan on giving him reason. Besides, he's never made good on that threat before."

"That doesn't make it an empty threat, you know. I think Lee's just been looking at the long-term this whole time, and he hadn't given up on us yet."

"My brother, the eternal optimist?"

"Oh, I didn't say that. Maybe more like your brother, the eternal pessimist that we'd never actually stop torturing him with this."

"And are we?"

"Going to stop torturing Lee? Not a chance."


	53. So That's Settled

**_(Noah)_**

Mom grabs Elle to talk about some wedding idea or other as soon as we walk back into the house for dinner. Elle and I spent the afternoon sitting by the pool, reading and occasionally swimming, and maybe that kind of relaxed idleness should be our plan for the next few weeks. Then, before leaving our apartment, Elle slipped the ring onto her necklace and tucked it into her shirt, to avoid having it spill the news early yet again.

With Elle spirited away by my mom, I figure I'll go find Lee, but that plan is put on hold once I walk into the living room to find Mike staring at me with an odd smile. Odd and a little intimidating.

Elle's dad didn't always scare me. In fact, growing up, he usually seemed a lot chiller than my dad. That is, until I started dating his daughter. Strike that, until he first started to suspect I might want to—that's when the flinty stares started. I'll grant that I gave him plenty of reasons to be wary of me, and I don't blame him for how long it took him to trust me. But he always trusted Elle, which is why he never stood in our way. Of course, instead of standing in our way he stood just off to the side, _watching_. Not actively opposing the relationship, just _watching_ , always. By the time Elle joined me in Boston I think Mike trusted me, but he still never stopped watching.

The few times I saw Mike those two years Elle and I were broken up were painfully awkward. I was so relieved to see him recovering well, so far beyond Elle's and my whispered fears those first days after the accident, but the disaster of the breakup hung between us, unmentioned but poisoning any chance at normal conversation. But Mike was definitely still _watching_ me those few times, and I don't think I was imagining the hard edge to his expression as he watched me. I don't know what Elle told him about the breakup, what he thought had happened, but it didn't matter because _I_ knew I deserved those glares.

So Mike's reaction this spring has been somewhat surprising. Surprising, and gratifying. Despite it all, he still trusts us, trusts us to work this out, and _wants_ us to work this out. At least, that's the only explanation I can find for why he waited for Elle to be ready to tell me and why he's been so hands-off all spring. Of course, I know this second chance he's giving me is a one-time deal. Screw this up and there will be no more chances. But I don't plan to, and I think he knows that. Always has known that, even if it took him a long time to be confident I'd manage it.

But yeah, all that to say... Mike does scare me, just a bit. Especially right now, when he's grinning at me with that slightly wolfish light in his eyes.

"Noah, so good to see you again so soon. Did you two have a nice dinner last night?" The _after I interrupted your makeout_ is implied.

"Yeah, we did. Sorry for stealing Elle away without warning, though." The apology for the awkward moment is also implied.

"Oh, no apologies needed, especially as it seems you've arranged for a replacement dinner tonight. Your mom sounded _very_ enthusiastic about these spur of the moment family dinner plans, by the way. Even insisted I make _sure_ Brad could be here."

And that's when I realize he knows. I thought he might, given the looks he's been giving me, but now I'm sure of it.

"I'm glad you could both make it. Elle and I were really hoping to see everyone tonight." I can't help grinning a little.

"It's always nice to have a family dinner. Especially with you kids growing up, moving out, starting families of your own. So much good news to celebrate, lately. So many... long-awaited moments."

He's grinning too, even if _his_ grin is a little scary.

"So Mom tipped you off?" I finally ask, probably more sheepish than I'd like.

"Oh, no. Well, not explicitly, and not just her. Give me some credit, I do know you all rather well. When you flew home early, when Elle couldn't stop giggling as you two left the house, and then when your mom sounded like she might actually explode with joy when she called to tell me we should all have dinner together as soon as possible..."

"We should have come and told you first." I offer apologetically.

"No, this is just fine. I'm looking forward to seeing how Elle decides to tell us. Or were _you_ going to make the announcement?"

"It was going to be me. Elle is in charge of the rest of the news."

"The rest of the news? There's more?"

"You'll see."

Mike looks like he wants to ask, but he doesn't. Instead he just keeps watching me with that quiet intensity of his.

"Should I... have talked to you first?" I finally ask.

"Talked to me about... proposing?" Mike looks a little confused.

"Yeah." I'm fairly certain I know what Elle would say about whether I should have talked to her dad, and I agree with her, but that doesn't mean he does.

"This development isn't exactly unforeseen. If I'd had concerns, I'd have raised them long ago. With _Elle_." Mike gives me a pointed look that quickly turns amused as I match it.

"Good, because I'm pretty sure she'd kill me if I'd talked to you before her and she found out."

"I'd have a lot more concerns about all this if you _didn't_ know that." Mike laughs. "But I don't. You know that, right? You two... I'm proud of both of you. And happy for you. Happy for all of us that you finally worked things out."

Mike finishes his drink, then leans awkwardly to set the glass down on the coffee table and brace himself to stand up from the couch. He hides the stiffness of his left side well, but every glimpse of it is a reminder of how close we came to losing him. I hesitate briefly, then stand and offer him a hand. He hesitates, too, before letting me help him up.

"I've been getting a lot of practice with Elle, lately." I tell him, hoping to reduce the awkwardness.

"And is she just as stubborn about never needing anyone's help as I am?"

"There is a certain family resemblance, yes." I admit.

"I never got a chance to thank you for everything you did after my accident. I hope you know it meant the world to me."

"You did thank me, actually. Several times, at the hospital. But you didn't need to."

"Did I? That must have been while I was still doped up."

"You were a little... hazy, sometimes." I smile.

"Well, I'm glad I thanked you then, but I'll do it again anyway. You were the best fake son in law I could have asked for."

I hadn't expected that, or the sly grin it was said with. "So you _do_ remember some of our conversations back then."

"That one was memorable. For a few seconds there, I really did think you two might actually have gotten married."

"Well, this time we're telling you first. Like I promised."

"Good. But I'd be glad even if you'd eloped and told me later. Or if you never got married, if that's how you both preferred things. You two... well, it's been a long road, and I won't pretend it's been easy to witness, as a parent. But nothing has made me happier than seeing you make the most of this year. But enough of all that. I've got to save some of these sappy dad pronouncements for when you actually give me the news. I promise to look surprised. Maybe even threaten you a little, for good measure." Mike smirks.

I grin back at him as he walks out of the living room. I suspect we'll still manage to surprise him tonight, but I'm letting Elle share that part of the news.

* * *

Actually making the announcement turns out easier than I thought. I do it soon after we've sat down to dinner—between Mom looking ready to burst, Lee constantly shooting me and Elle knowing grins, and Mike watching me with that unsettling gaze of his, it's more than obvious something is up.

"Before we all get started... there _is_ a reason we're having this dinner, beyond the usual reasons. And several of you already know it, because it turns out it's hard to keep quiet about good news. So this may or may not come as any kind of surprise, but Elle and I... we're getting married."

I spent a while this afternoon wondering how to phrase the news. _Elle's agreed to marry me_ sounds like it's some chore she's giving in to. _I asked Elle to marry me_ leaves out my favorite part of this story, that this was all Elle's doing. _After almost seven years, multiple breakups, a whole lot of stubborn idiocy, and one serendipitous contraceptive failure, we've finally decided to admit that's Mom's fondest dream and Lee's worst nightmare really is our destiny_ probably isn't funny to anyone but me.

So, once again, I go with simple: we're getting married. And now I'll let Elle decide how to tell everyone exactly how soon that's going to happen.

The reactions are about what I would have predicted. Mom tears up even though this isn't news to her, Mike pulls Elle into a bear hug and they trade private whispers, Brad shrieks _really?_ , Lee puts on a show of gagging and groaning, and my dad... well, Dad may actually look thrilled, at least by his standards. Which isn't why we're doing this, but isn't unwelcome either.

"Because you want to, right?" Dad warily eyes me from across the table.

"Why, do you no longer think we should?" I respond curiously.

"Of course I do. But what I think isn't reason enough to do it."

It's possible my dad has been replaced by an alien.

"Don't worry. How often has _you_ wanting me to ever been my reason for doing anything?"

"Fair enough. And don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for this news, if it's what the two of you want."

"It is. And that's the only reason we're doing it."

"Good. Then I'm glad. Very, very glad. You and Elle—I'm sorry if I gave you the impression I didn't trust you two to figure this out. I do, and I should have from the start."

I give Dad a shrugging smile and bite back the temptation to respond sarcastically. He's trying, and I appreciate it. Elle is still talking to her dad and Mom is busy hassling Lee about his reaction to the announcement, so I guess I'm stuck talking to Dad a little longer.

"Maybe I shouldn't even bring this up, but... if getting married is what you want, there _are_ advantages to doing this sooner rather than later. Before the baby, if possible. I know that's probably not the kind of wedding Elle and your mom have in mind, but it would make a lot of things easier. It's all up to you, of course, but just—something to think about."

I'm tempted to laugh at exactly how long Dad's newfound commitment to trusting us to make our own decisions lasted, but a better idea strikes me.

"Hey, Elle?" I reach for her shoulder to get her attention.

"Yeah?"

"Want to get married, like, next week? Just a totally wacky idea Dad wanted me to throw out there."

Elle looks at me like I've lost my mind, then gets it and grins back at me.

"That sounds good. Sure, why not? Maybe Saturday after next, so we can get Adam down here?"

"Saturday works for me. Good, so that's settled; next weekend it is. Thanks, Dad, great suggestion." I go back to placidly serving myself some of the pasta salad.

Dad and Mike are both staring at me now, while Mom is failing miserably at containing her laughter. Lee is equally entertained, while Brad just looks confused.

"Is this a joke, Noah?" Dad asks.

"No, I'm dead serious. It's a great idea. Right, Elle?"

Elle is giggling, then rolls her eyes when I make no move to elaborate further. Hey, this part was her crazy idea, she gets to explain it.

"I, ah, I'd kind of already convinced Noah that we should get married right now. I mean... it's been long enough, we don't need more time wasted. That's what I was starting to tell you, Dad; that we want to get married _now_. Which is insanely short notice, I know, but June's agreed to help make this happen. So I'm glad to hear you approve of this plan, Matthew."

" _Next_ Saturday? As in twelve days from now?" Elle's dad asks her, looking equally stunned and amused.

"Yeah. Unless you've got plans already. You did say you wanted advance warning the next time we got married."

"The _next_ time? Was there a wedding you've forgotten to mention, Noah?" Dad asks, and from the look on his face I think he might actually be worried there was. Even Mom looks mildly concerned.

"No, no other weddings, I promise." Elle quickly clarifies. "It's just that when Dad was in the hospital, Noah told people we were married so they'd give him updates. So when Dad found out, we promised we wouldn't _actually_ get married without telling him. Or any of you. Which is why we're telling you this, rather than running off to Vegas or something."

"So you're really doing this? Getting married, right now?" Dad asks, sounding unsure. He's always suspicious when I agree with him on anything.

"Really doing this. Legally and everything, assuming Mom finds us an officiant."

"Already taken care of. Carol said she'd be thrilled to." Mom smiles.

"Carol? Crazy cat lady Carol?" Lee asks.

"She prefers to go by the Honorable Judge Robinson at work. But yes, my friend Carol, whom I'll pretend you didn't just call that. And she said there's a rooftop terrace at the courthouse where she's done several weddings, unless you have some other location picked out. She sent me some pictures, and I thought of a few other options you should check out."

"See, this is why we put you in charge of planning." Elle grins at Mom.

"I'm surprised she's not killing you for depriving her of that big elaborate wedding she's been plotting for years." Lee marvels.

"Oh, this just means _you_ 're going to have to have that big elaborate wedding. Sorry about that." Elle laughs.

"Are you guys still going to be around by the time Lee gets married? There's got to be _someone_ out there who'd say yes, but the odds of him finding her..." I trail off.

Mom smacks my shoulder. "You realize it was _your_ wedding I used to doubt I'd live to see, right? Let alone grandchildren."

"Yes, well, we definitely don't have to worry about _that_ anymore." Mike says with an admirably straight face.

* * *

"So, tonight was fun," I comment to Elle as I return from brushing my teeth. She's sitting up in bed, reading, and I see she's once again stolen one of my shirts to sleep in.

"Yeah, it was. But you've got to warn me when you decide to mess with your dad. I thought you'd lost it for a second there." Elle smiles softly, and as she closes her book I realize it's _The Blue Castle_. She must have brought it back from her house yesterday.

"Can I borrow that sometime? I never got a chance to finish it, and I still want to know if Barney murders her."

"He can't _murder_ her, he's the _love interest_. That's not how romances work."

"Yeah, the love interest with a mysterious past and an even more mysterious secret room he's forbidden her from entering."

"Do you actually want me to tell you and spoil the ending?"

"Go ahead."

"No, on second thought I'm going to make you read it. Aloud. To me. While I float in the pool. With an iced lemonade."

"There's no way I can say no to this plan without you laying a guilt trip on me about how many times Dinah kicked your ribs today, is there?"

"Nope."

"I'm not sure you can blame that on me, though. Fondness for kicking is really more of a soccer thing. "

"Fine. The guilt trip will be about how many times she's punched me today."

"You know I haven't actually punched anyone since, like, high school, right?"

"Glad to hear it, but that doesn't change who she got it from."

"Okay, you win. Pool, lemonade, dramatic reading. But I'm giving Barney a creepy murderer voice."

Elle laughs, then looks down at the book again, fussing with her bracelet. She looks nervous all of a sudden, and I wonder what caused the change in her mood.

"I never got a chance to thank you. For the book." She finally tells me.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you had it."

Elle flinches. She looks like she's about to say something, stops, then looks up with a hesitant expression.

"I didn't. Not until now. I never saw the box you sent, not until yesterday. I was going to tell you when you got back, but then we got distracted."

"You never saw it?" I wonder if Elle was so angry at me back then that she never opened the box. At least she saved it, though.

"Lee packed it with a bunch of my winter stuff, and I never finished unpacking that box. Not until yesterday." Elle admits, looking pained.

"He didn't _tell_ you?" Then again, neither did I. I figured the ball was in Elle's court, and when she never called I took that as my answer.

"I mean, he did _send_ it to me. It was reasonable to assume I'd actually open all those boxes full of my stuff. And I did—just not all of this one. But I wish I had."

"Yeah, well, I wish I'd told you I'd sent it. And I should have —"

Elle reaches to squeeze my arm. "Stop."

"Right. We're done rehashing, I know." In a way, finding out Elle never found the box almost helps. She wasn't ignoring my note, she just had no idea.

"Thanks for it, though. I loved everything. And it's not like it went to waste, it was just... delayed. But I'm glad to have that mug back, and my favorite sleep shirt. And one day you'll have to tell me how you found this book."

"Is that what changed your mind, finding the box? I guess that means you also found the note."

"I did, but that's not what did it. Maybe it drove home how much time we'd wasted, but it was everything else in my room that changed my mind. Or made me realize I didn't need to change my mind, that I'd wanted this for a long time and for a hundred reasons unrelated to this baby. I mean, Dinah's also a reason, and I realize now that's not a bad thing. But I'd want to marry you regardless."

"Maybe in a little less of a rush?" I smile at her.

"Maybe. Although I'm liking this whole no-worries, just-let-June-do-it approach."

"You know Dinah's just bonus for me, too, right?" I know she does, but it bears repeating.

"Yeah, I do."

Elle sets the book down on her bedside table, then curls up alongside me. She's quiet as I reach to turn off the lamp and then wrap an arm around her, and for a minute I think maybe she's fallen asleep already. But then she speaks up again.

"Do you remember the note?"

"Mostly. Not the words I used, but what I wanted to tell you."

"When you said _the offer stands_... what did you mean?"

I pause, trying to remember. "I'm not sure. Probably that if you ever changed your mind about letting me stay in LA, I'd come back. Whenever."

Elle stays silent, and after a beat I ask her "Why?"

"It's just... I guess I was thinking about the fight again, and that proposal. And I wondered whether that was the offer you meant."

"Probably not. I doubt I thought there was any chance that would change your mind. Why? Would it have helped, to have actually proposed, and not in the middle of a fight?"

"No, it would probably just have freaked me out more. I just wondered, when I read the note. But you're right, that's not what you meant."

"Well... I don't think it's what I had in mind when I wrote the note. But it _was_ true that offer stood, too. The proposal, I mean. I'd been thinking about it for a while."

"I wonder, sometimes—where we'd be now, if you'd stayed. If I'd let you."

"Does it matter? I like where we are now. And where we're going."

"Yeah, I know. And I do too."

It's minutes later, as I'm falling asleep, that I hear Elle again, whispering.

"I think we would have made it work. I always told myself we couldn't have, but I'm realizing now... we could have done it. We probably would have. And I don't mean this in a regret kind of way. It's just—I underestimated us. And that's why I'm confident now."


	54. Twelve Days (1)

**_(Elle)_**

 **TUESDAY**

I wake up the morning after our family dinner feeling better than I have in days. There's a weird giddiness now that it's all decided and all happening so soon. In twelve days I'll be married to Noah, and not long after that we'll be parents; it would be terrifying if it weren't also thrilling. All these decisions and milestones and transitions that seemed unimaginable a year ago are about to become reality, and I can only giggle at the ridiculous pace of it all.

For once I'm the first one up, and by the time Noah joins me in the kitchen the coffee is made, the first batch of French toast is coming off the griddle, and I'm singing along to my phone.

"You're unusually chipper for this early." Noah comments warily.

"Why wouldn't I be? I have no classes to go to, no work to do, and for another few weeks, basically no responsibilities. And neither do you. So before adulthood comes barrelling at us, I say we enjoy our summer."

"I sense there's a plan for today that I shouldn't try to modify."

"Correct. Not that you'd want to, because once we've had breakfast we're going to the beach and doing absolutely nothing productive, we're eating boardwalk food for lunch no matter how much you try to convince me corn dogs and funnel cake aren't a balanced meal, and once it gets too hot we're seeing whatever movie is playing. If they're all terrible, we'll have to entertain ourselves some other way than paying attention to the screen. Oh, and Lee mentioned a friend of his is having a party tonight. With karaoke and vintage video games, so you know I'm not missing that."

"So you're going full high school for the day?" Noah laughs.

"Basically. Come on, it'll be fun."

"Karaoke with Lee's friends—definitely the hottest invite in town."

"He thinks that girl he met at the party this weekend is going to be there. We can't miss that."

"Am I allowed to mess with him?" Noah's eyes gleam.

"Within reason."

"Deal."

* * *

I keep expecting June to call or text with wedding questions, but she's true to her promise to take as much of the planning off our shoulders as possible and I don't hear from her all day. I know Mickey called June as soon as I got done telling her about our blitz wedding plans, so maybe between the two of them Noah and I really won't have much to do. I do wonder if I should care more about all these details we've blindly delegated to June. It's not that I don't care about the wedding, it's that trying to figure out what I want and how to make it happen by next Saturday is paralyzing, and I can't imagine not liking anything June comes up with. As long as Noah and I end up married and the people most important to us are there, I'm happy. Well, and cake. Maybe I should make sure June understands that cake is non-negotiable.

Hanging out in the shallows as small waves constantly push and pull past me is heavenly, even more so than floating in our pool had been. With the salt water supporting me, I feel less awkward and unbalanced than I have in weeks, and I'm tempted to spend the rest of this pregnancy immersed. I'd be so pruney my skin might never recover and I'd stink of seaweed and iodine, but it might still be worth it. I don't attempt to swim, I just hang off the side of a float while Noah keeps it from being pulled away by the waves, his height making him a convenient human pier.

Noah is telling me stories about a disastrous surfing trip, with missed flights and stolen luggage and miserable weather, and it takes me a minute to realize that he's talking about _this_ February, that he and his friends were off on these adventures while I was panicking about being pregnant and trying to figure out what to do next. The brief flash of resentment I feel is entirely unfair; _I_ 'm the reason Noah had no idea what I was going through as he relaxed on vacation. Thankfully, my irrational frustration is quickly replaced by simple disbelief at how long ago February already seems.

Once the sun gets high, I retreat under our umbrella and catch up on podcasts while watching Noah get dragged into a beach volleyball match. Watching him play is always fun, and even more so after I notice two of the girls on the other team very obviously giggling and whispering about him. Well, very obviously to me, but apparently not to Noah, because when everyone takes a break between sets he walks right past them without noticing their flirtatious smiles. Flirtatious smiles whose collapse I greatly enjoy witnessing once Noah sits down next to me and I wave gaily to his admirers. The attention he invariably gets from women used to drive me nuts, but after all these years I've realized that the existence of other women in the world really isn't a threat to us compared to our own idiocy. It was never anyone else that broke us up, just us.

Noah stays only long enough to check in on me and grab another water bottle; I can tell he's eager to get back to the match and I don't want him missing out just to sit here with me, especially not when I'm more than happy to keep watching him play. I'm not convinced when Noah claims he'll be fine not being involved with a team next year. I know him, he needs a competitive outlet, and it's also clear how much he's enjoyed coaching these last two years. Which I get, because I miss being part of a team, too. I joined the intramural soccer club my first semester at UCLA, one small step on my slow climb to reclaim my college life, and last fall I'd finally felt back in the groove. Practices were scheduled to start up again after winter break, but by then I was busy freaking out about being pregnant and I quit without telling anyone why. I don't know how long it'll be before I'm up for soccer again, but I need to convince Noah that I won't kill him if he joins some kind of rec league, even if it means more time on my own with Dinah. I'm more likely to kill him if he _doesn't_ and I have to deal with his antsy, pent-up self.

Watching Noah play and thinking about soccer and all the other activities that got pushed aside this spring does make me wistful. Sometimes I wish we were getting more time. That I weren't pregnant right now and that we could be settling into living together with nothing more complicated to figure out than how to divvy up household chores. The extra bedroom in our apartment would be my office instead of a nursery, and we'd be planning vacations and trips to see friends without worrying about how many vaccinations babies are supposed to get before you start traveling with them. But the wistfulness is fleeting, because there are two things of which I'm certain: that there's no chance we'd have intentionally decided to have a baby at this point in our lives, and that I'm thrilled that we are. It's taken me months to realize that, to get from panic to cautious optimism to confidence, but I did make it here. Sometimes you don't know what you want until it comes crashing down on you without warning.

* * *

There are two teenagers struggling to change a flat tire in the restaurant parking lot as Noah and I eat dinner, our patio table offering a prime view of their misadventures and bickering. The girl seems to be the only one who knows what she's doing, and finally she yells at the guy to back off and let her work.

"They remind me of me and Lee," I smile at Noah, swiping the last of his fries.

Noah snorts and gives me a look. "No, they don't. Or they shouldn't."

I look at him curiously. "Why not?"

"Have you been watching them at all?" Noah asks.

"Yeah, and they've been arguing non-stop. But also laughing hysterically. And don't you remember when Lee and I tried to change a tire on the Mustang and managed to break the jack before we gave in and called you?"

"Sure, but have you been watching _him_? Because I have. And if Lee had ever looked at you the way that guy looks at that girl, he would have actually killed me when he found out, not just punched me."

"You think he's into her?"

"Seriously, Elle, just look at him."

Noah might have a point. The guy does look pretty goofily happy for someone who's just been ordered to move his useless ass out of the damn way loud enough for us to hear from our table.

"I'm not sure _she_ 's into him, though. She looks pretty fed up."

"Shelly, how often do you make that exact face at me? Like, how often just this week?" Noah points out. I'm not sure if he intentionally called me _Shelly_ justso I'd make that face and prove his point or if it was a coincidence, but either way I guess I need to add one to the admittedly high count.

"Fine. She might be into him. But do _they_ know they're hot for each other?"

"That's why I haven't gone out there to help. I think what we're witnessing here is an intensely awkward teen courtship ritual, and I'd hate to interfere. Besides, now that he's not getting in her way she looks like she's got the flat handled."

"Noah Flynn, secret romantic, smoothing the path for clueless lovebirds."

"Yeah, well, now hopefully you understand why those two really shouldn't remind you of you and Lee."

"Don't worry, you've convinced me."

"Except his mechanical ineptitude. _That_ should remind you of Lee." Noah adds with a smirk.

* * *

 **WEDNESDAY**

Wednesday I'm the one who sleeps in, waking only after Noah returns from his run. It's possible Lee and I were just a little _too_ ambitious in our selection of karaoke routines last night. But it seems neither our ridiculous dancing nor Noah's constant needling managed to scare off Lee's crush, because by the time Noah and I headed home she and Lee were looking pretty cozy. I'll wait a few more hours before I start pestering him for details.

As tempting as another lazy beach day is, my weekly appointment with Dr. Kim is this morning. The visit turns out completely boring, which I guess is ideal at this point. Everything looks fine, nothing's happening yet, try to stay active, drink a lot of water, get enough sleep, and come back next week—exactly like last week's appointment. Our wedding news amuses her, even if she doesn't look terribly surprised, and she's glad to hear I'm not driving myself crazy planning. There's no ultrasound this week, but we do get to hear Dinah's heartbeat, which I always love. She's hanging out upside down just like she's supposed to, and while I don't appreciate the resulting rib kicking, I do enjoy knowing that she's basically mooning me every time I look down.

Dr. Kim reminds us that we still haven't scheduled a tour of the maternity ward or taken the hospital's childbirth class, and she's right, we definitely should. There just haven't yet been many days when we've both been in town and not otherwise occupied, but we'll squeeze it in somehow. After reading way too many books, most of them contradicting each other and all of them terrifying, I think my birthplan is basically _show up at hospital, ask for the good meds_. Still, it would be good to know where to go and exactly how soon they'll let me have that magical epidural.

* * *

I talk Noah into hiking up to the Hollywood sign after lunch. I'd failed to convince him to go on Sunday night, on our way home from the diner, but today he can't claim that we're too tired or that I'm too likely to lose my footing in the dark. Plus, I remind him that Dr. Kim _just_ said exercise is a good thing as long as I pace myself. Noah has only himself to blame that hanging out under the Ls is how we celebrate milestones, and getting engaged is definitely one of our bigger milestones.

The weather cooperates beautifully, a scattering of clouds shielding us from the sun just long enough to reach our destination before clearing. I may not be walking fast, but I'm still riding that wave of giddy energy from yesterday and it's satisfying to prove to Noah and myself that I can still easily handle this hike. We end up arguing about which of us has the worst taste in movies all the way up the path and it's nice not to be talking about anything serious for once. I mean, all those serious conversations we've had lately were necessary, and I'm more than happy with their outcomes, but it's also fun just to hang out.

My giddy energy runs out as we eat the snack I'd packed, and I fall asleep curled up on our picnic blanket. Noah is unfailingly amused by my current inability to make it through the day without a nap, but it's honestly getting ridiculous. Last week I fell asleep sitting up while Lee and I were at lunch, and that jerk took pictures of me. At least he woke me up once he'd gotten the pictures, so I wouldn't get a stiff neck. Today I'm comfortable, though, my head propped on Noah's leg, and I happily doze in and out of sleep as he plays with my hair. I vaguely hear him talking to a pair of older tourists who've stopped to take pictures, and as best I can tell through their accents they're giving Noah baby advice. The woman sounds wistful as she tells Noah she used to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, too, _just like your wife_. Noah doesn't correct her, and I guess there's really no reason to. It's weird but wonderful, hearing myself called that.

* * *

 **THURSDAY**

There are a few wedding planning tasks I can't delegate to June, and chief among those is dress shopping. I guess I don't _have_ to buy anything, it's not like we're having a big traditional wedding requiring a beaded white ball gown, but there are some traditions I don't want to skip. And anyway, even if I didn't mind wearing a regular dress, I'd still need to go shopping because there's not much in my closet that still fits.

Of course, that turns out to be exactly the problem with wedding dress shopping, too—there just aren't a lot of options designed for someone currently smuggling a very large watermelon. Pregnant brides may be the oldest wedding tradition around, but apparently not practically-full-term pregnant brides. Mickey keeps reminding me that I can have a nicer dress the next time I get married, and while those comments make the saleswoman look askance at us, they actually are comforting. I'm not sure what kind of wedding I'd plan if I weren't working on deadline, but it's nice to know that anything we find ourselves regretting we can fix when we have a bigger celebration next year. Still, though, _this_ wedding is the one that counts, and I'd rather not hate what I'm wearing.

But I _do_ hate what I'm wearing, is the problem. Or, at least, I've hated every dress I've tried on so far. I'm getting close to giving up as June helps me wriggle out of yet another disaster and Mickey goes to harangue the saleswoman for having brought me yet another obvious dud.

"Do they make formal muumuus? I don't even care if it's white at this point. I just need something that won't make me look like a sparkly sausage." I complain, flopping back against the dressing room couch in frustration.

"Elle, none of those dresses made you look like a sausage." June assures me, but I know she's lying. My options seem to be stretchy fabrics creating the aforementioned sausage look, or the other extreme, drowning myself in a full-skirted mountain of fabric wide enough to accomodate my belly.

"Maybe a toga," I continue, ignoring June. "Is it too late to make this a Greek theme? I could wrap myself in a giant white sheet, find a nice sparkly clip to hold it in place, and just be done."

"We'll find something, Elle, I promise. Here, let me fix your hair." I don't share June's optimism, but I may as well take a break while the saleswoman gathers her next collection of monstrosities. I scoot closer to June and let her braid and coil my hair back into the bun that removing the last dress had pulled loose. It's been ages since June did my hair, and I can't help but relax as her fingers twist and work their way through my hair.

I almost asked June not to come today. She's always so careful never to step into my mom's role uninvited, never assuming, and for a brief moment, when she asked if I wanted her help dress shopping, I almost said no. Somehow I feared having June there for such a traditional mother-daughter moment would feel worse than shopping with Mickey alone. But I'm so glad I didn't say no. June's not here instead of Mom, she's here as herself, and she'd probably be here for this moment even if Mom hadn't died. Even if the groom weren't Noah.

The saleswoman still hasn't returned, and I'm debating a quick catnap on the plush couch when Mickey sweeps back into the room bearing a victorious expression and a single dress draped over her arm.

"This is the one. I found it. Here, try it on, but I already know you're wearing this one." Mickey announces as she hangs up the dress.

I'm slightly more willing to trust Mickey—she at least has been honest about the awfulness of everything I've tried on so far, unlike June's tactful faint praise—but I'm still skeptical that there's any dress out there that I'm not going to hate.

I haul myself up from the couch and slip off the satin robe the shop provided to wear between dress fittings, watching Mickey gather up the skirt to lift the dress over my head.

"Close your eyes and don't look in the mirror yet, let me get you zipped and adjusted first." Mickey pulls a handful of fabric clips from her pocket, and I'm starting to wonder if she banished the saleswoman and told her she was taking over. I humor Mickey, keeping my eyes shut as she fusses with the length of the straps and snugs the bust slightly. Whatever I'm wearing, it's not nearly as heavy as some of the earlier disasters, and it doesn't feel clingy at all.

"Okay, _now_ you can look. The length isn't quite right, but that can be fixed. Now, tell me I'm a genius."

And she is. The dress is simple, but in the best way. The matte silk is closer to a pearly grey than white, ruched tight to form the bodice and then flowing loosely from the empire waist to just below my knees. A delicate web of silver embroidery with just a few scattered crystals spans the bodice, barely visible but adding a slight sparkle. I'm still pumpkin-shaped, there's no getting around that reality, but somehow in this dress I don't mind. There's no stretchy fabric clinging to my belly, but also no heavy layers trying to hide it. I might even be willing to call the light swishy skirt flattering. There's something familiar about the dress, though, and it finally clicks as I take a test twirl.

"It's the same dress you made me buy for the baby shower, except... wedding-ier." I realize.

"You mean the dress you swore would look terrible until I made you try it on? And that you ended up loving? Yes, it is. And you're welcome, again."

"How did you find this?" It looks nothing like any of the dresses the saleswoman showed me.

"Easy. I showed them a picture of your baby shower dress and demanded it in white. Which this isn't, quite, because it's actually a bridesmaid dress, but silver looks amazing on you."

"There are maternity bridesmaid dresses?"

"Probably, but this isn't one, it's just a regular dress that happens to have a high waist and a loose skirt. That's why the length is all wonky in front, but they've promised me their seamstress can fix that and make the other adjustments in time for the wedding. Now, we're done, right? Because _this_ is the dress."

"She's right, Elle." June's been silent until now, but when I turn to face her she's beaming. "It's perfect for you and perfect for a small wedding."

I stare at myself in the mirror again. I have to admit I do love the dress. I love how it looks on me and I love how the fabric feels, and I love that it has just enough sparkle without feeling ridiculous. I'd love it even if the alternatives hadn't all been hideous.

Mickey looks smugly triumphant when I grin at her and give the dress another twirl.

"I owe you one. Another one. Another one in a very long list of debts that I'm not sure how I'm ever going to repay."

The dress is really the least of those debts; I've tried to imagine what this year would have been like without Mickey, and it's not an appealing thought.

"Well, I could go Lee's route and tell you that the sincerest form of appreciation would be to name that baby after me, but... Lee's a weirdo and I don't actually want to inflict Michelangela on anyone else. So instead, just promise me you won't make me wear anything awful for your next wedding."

Mickey hates her full name even more than I hate mine—she swears her parents must have been high when they decided to name her after Michelangelo, except feminized. They aren't even remotely Italian, she likes to remind me whenever she rants about it.

"Deal," I promise her.

"Have you guys settled on a name yet?" June asks after Mickey goes to get the seamstress to mark the alterations.

"Ugh, no. I'm starting to think we'll just call her Baby until she can pick her own name."

"That bad?" June laughs.

"Your son has the world's most boring taste in names. No offense."

"At least you two are picking it together. It was made clear to me early on that naming Noah after Matthew's father wasn't up for discussion."

"What did _you_ want to name him?" I ask curiously.

"Oh, I don't know. I didn't give it much thought, since I knew I wasn't going to win that battle. Probably Patrick, for my favorite cousin. That's what I planned to call Lee, until he showed up and the name just didn't suit him."

I try to imagine Lee as a Patrick or a Rick. Yeah, no, I can't see it either.

"That's what we keep saying, too—that we need to meet her before we name her. But it would be nice to agree on some possibilities."

"You'll know the right name when you find it."

I just hope we find that right name before Dinah can yell at us herself to hurry up.


	55. Twelve Days (2)

**_(Noah)_**

 **FRIDAY**

Friday morning Elle decides to go see her mom. I ask her if she wants me to come along or if she'd rather go on her own, and after a pause she asks me to drive up with her but let her have the visit to herself. I find a bench to sit on as I wait for her, and it's impossible not to think about the last time I sat waiting for Elle here. It's not the same bench, and it's not like October was the first time I'd waited here while she visited her mom, but still. I've learned, over the years, what Elle needs from me those times her mom fills her mind even more than usual. She doesn't want to talk, she needs her space, but she also likes to know I'm nearby. To know that I know.

I hesitated before coming here, in October. I booked my flight impulsively after talking to Lee and then I refused to think about exactly what I was doing or why, but the doubts were still there, unacknowledged. The second-guessing hit hardest when I walked into my parents' house after flying in from San Francisco. The house that had been the last place we'd been together and the place we'd somehow fallen apart. The scene of all our breakups, actually. The house where Elle's presence had been a constant longer than I could remember and the house I knew she still visited often, but never when I might be around. I had no idea what to expect, no real plan for the weekend beyond finding Elle. But however Elle might react, it was long past time we talked.

I could have called first, or sent a message. I could probably have gotten Elle's campus address from my mom, or maybe even from Lee, and shown up there instead. But I didn't want anyone else involved, and I couldn't figure out what I'd say if I did send a message. Or maybe I dreaded the possibility of never getting a reply. So, despite all the second-guessing, I decided to just show up in the one place I knew she'd visit at some point that Saturday, the place where the thought of her alone that day had provoked this whole trip.

Elle rejoins me after a while, and when she curls up with her head on my lap I wonder if she's been thinking about October, too. But even if our positions are the same, everything else has changed. This time I don't fight the urge to thread my fingers through Elle's hair, brushing it off her shoulder before letting my hand sweep down to rest over Dinah. This time I have no confusion about how I feel, or how she does. This time we've forgiven each other for all our disasters, not just opted to ignore them. There's a long silent stretch, a quiet moment shared, and when Elle finally says she's ready to go, this time there's no question that we're leaving together. Going home, together.

* * *

Mom calls with a few wedding updates and questions as we eat lunch. The guest list has grown slightly. Elle's mom's parents are coming, as are Mike's brother and my aunt Jen. Mike's parents don't travel much anymore, nor do my mom's, but we promise to visit with Dinah as soon as possible. My dad's mom does still travel plenty, which is why _she_ can't be here, as she's in the middle of the Pacific on yet another cruise. The friends side of the guest list has stayed limited to Adam and Mickey, though; there are no easy lines to draw after those two, and so that's where we've kept things. On Monday we'll need to go downtown to get our wedding license, but other than that Mom really has kept most of the planning off our shoulders.

"One of Mickey's friends has a play premiering on campus tonight. We could grab dinner at the Thai place by my old dorm before the show," Elle suggests as we finish lunch.

"Nope."

"Oh, come on, the last play wasn't that bad."

"It was, but that's not why."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"It's Friday. I always have plans for us on Fridays." Always, minus those years we spent being idiots. Which means we have a lot of Fridays to make up for.

"Do these plans also involve Thai food? Dinah and I will both be very angry if they don't."

"That could probably be arranged."

"Stop being mysterious and just tell me your plan." Elle glares.

"I figure these next couple weeks are our last chance at some of those adventures we talked about but never got around to."

"Such as?" Now Elle looks downright suspicious.

"Well, you always wanted to go camping in Big Bear..."

"Are you out of your mind?" Elle yelps, interrupting.

I wouldn't mess with Elle so often if she didn't reliably react so entertainingly.

"I mean, we can't drag a baby camping, right? So we'll have to wait years if we don't go now." I force myself to keep a straight face.

"You can't drag _me_ camping! I already can't sleep comfortably in a real bed without five pillows, I'm not sleeping on the ground! And have you forgotten that Dinah wakes me up every three hours to pee? If you think I am sleeping in a _tent_ in the _woods_ , I —"

I give in and grin at her. "I was kidding, Elle. We share a bed, I'm more than aware of your current sleeping habits."

"You were kidding about _all_ of it? This isn't one of your Friday schemes where you refuse to tell me where we're going until we get there? You promise I get to sleep in my own, real bed tonight?"

"Promise. I _did_ actually think about surprising you with some kind of getaway, but it turns out we don't have a lot of options right now."

"What would we be getting away _from_? We have nothing to do and a very nice apartment in which to do that nothing."

"I know. I just figured we'll be stuck at home for the foreseeable future, it would have been fun to check a few more adventures off our list while we can."

"You didn't seriously consider camping, did you?" Elle still looks concerned.

"Not actual camping, no. But Parker's family has a cabin in Big Bear, so I did think about that... until I realized how far from the hospital we'd be if you went into labor."

"I'm not going into labor this weekend."

"Probably not, but I'm still not taking that chance."

"Agreed. So what else did you consider?"

"Well, you did always threaten to make me go to Disneyland..."

"Because you are literally the only LA native who has never been and that's just wrong and weird."

"Yes, you've told me that. Many times. But being around a bunch of hyped-up kids doesn't seem like great pre-baby relaxation."

"Fine. But I _am_ dragging you there eventually. You know that, right?"

"We'll see about that. But not this weekend. Anyway, Joshua Tree and Palm Springs are too far, one of Mom's friends is using the beach house this week, and I ruled out anything involving sailing or ferries since you've been getting queasy just driving around."

"Yeah, no, I'm vetoing anything sway-y right now."

"So, basically, other than checking into a nearby hotel and pretending to be tourists for the hell of it, not a lot of options for a weekend getaway right now."

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm perfectly happy staying home. So if we're not going anywhere, why can't we go see the play?"

"We're not _going_ anywhere, but I did have plans for us. Do you remember Ironic Puppet?"

Elle stares blankly at me, and then her eyebrows rise sky-high.

"That band those guys from my dorm started? That I dragged you to all those times because my roommate had a crush on the drummer?"

"Yeah. Apparently they kept at it, because guess who's playing at USC tonight?"

"Wow. That's kind of amazing that they're getting actual gigs."

"I listened to one of their recent songs. They're... somewhat less weird and terrible now."

"So that's your mystery plan for tonight?"

"It's been forever since you and I went to a concert, and when I saw their name pop up, I figured we had to go."

"I love it. I wish I'd kept that shirt they guilt-tripped the whole dorm into buying. I can't believe they're touring."

"Well, touring the California college circuit and some tiny clubs. They must have moved out here."

"I also can't believe they're still together."

"Think they'll say the same about us?"

Elle punches my shoulder, but with a grin, and I'm glad our dramas are slowly turning to funny stories. Maybe not all the way funny yet, but at least crossing over from bitter to bittersweet.

* * *

Ironic Puppet must have made quite an impression at BU, because Elle recognizes several other alums as we hang out before the show starts. Pretty soon they're all singing along, and if it weren't for the glint of her ring catching the light as Elle dances with her new-found friends, I'd forget where and when we are. Well, the ring and the belly; that detail is also new. Everyone keeps congratulating us, and I quickly realize they don't just mean the baby. I guess that's the problem with having gotten Elle a wedding band as an engagement ring—except I'm just fine with the assumption that we're married.

I go get us another round of drinks, and as I'm walking back I see a guy walk up to Elle. She smiles awkwardly at him and I hang back, trying not to eavesdrop too obviously. It's hard to ignore the way he's looking at Elle, though, and eventually I walk up and give him a tight smile. He disappears quickly after that, and I'll admit I'm curious.

"A friend of yours I haven't met yet?"

Elle winces. "Not quite. We, ah, went out a few times. Because Lee made me."

"Because _Lee_ made you?"

Elle gives me an embarrassed smile. "I mean, Lee didn't _make_ me go out with Will. But he signed me up for this dating app, and sometimes he'd send me profiles he thought I should talk to... Anyway, that's how I ended up going on some dates with that guy. Do you actually want to hear about this?"

"Probably not." Do I kind of want to kill Lee? Yeah.

"You did ask."

"So he was glaring at me because he thinks I stole his girl?"

"He was glaring at _me_. I may have ghosted him a little bit." Elle admits sheepishly. "Not because of you, this was in August. But I guess he doesn't know that."

"So do I need to go set Will straight? And should I expect glares from any other guys at this concert?"

"Are you asking who else I dated? Don't worry, you've staked your claim pretty obviously. I'm hugely pregnant, I'm wearing what everyone thinks is a wedding ring, and you just did that thing where you drape an arm around me and smile smugly. If Will hadn't already gotten the message from me never calling him back, I think he's clear now. As is everyone else here. I don't have to give you the caveman lecture again, do I?"

"You don't _need_ to, but I always enjoy it. But Lee _has_ stopped setting you up, right? He's not still hanging out on dating apps picking out guys for you? Because that's really, really weird, even by his standards."

"Not recently, no."

"Good." I'm grinning at her, but I'm still irrationally mad at Lee for ever having done it. Although, who knows, maybe this was another of his attempts to make us realize we were being stupid. Grudgingly or not, he's been in our corner a lot longer than he likes to admit.

* * *

 **SATURDAY**

We sleep in after being out late at the concert, and I manage not to wake Elle when I slip out for a run. She's still dozing as I get back and shower, and afterward I let her pull me back into bed.

"You look less green than usual this morning. No need for the seltzer?" I ask her as she curls herself against my side.

"I _was_ queasy, but I got up and had tea while you were out. And then I decided I wanted more sleep. In this nice comfortable bed. That I can't believe you even considered making me give up for the weekend to go sleep in a tent."

"Once again, I really _didn't_. I told you, it was a cabin we could have stayed at, with real beds and running water and everything."

"All of which we already have right here."

"Yes, I'm aware. I guess I was just caught up in the idea of taking advantage of our last few weeks of freedom."

"It's not like we're dying or going to prison. We can still travel and do stuff after Dinah's here. Maybe not right away, but soon enough. And your mom's reminded me a hundred times that she'd love to babysit if we need a break."

"I know, and you're right. Having a date on the calendar was just making me antsy. Like we're in some kind of countdown rush."

Elle props herself on an elbow, looking at me somewhat nervously.

"Are you afraid we're going to be missing out? That this was too soon? You've made some comments..." Elle's voice trails off.

"No, but..." _No_ isn't quite accurate, but I need the right way to say it. "Well, maybe yes, but not in a bad way."

"Yes, this was too soon?"

"It was—sooner than expected. Which doesn't mean too soon."

Elle still looks concerned. I don't want to lie to her, but it's hard finding the words to explain something I'm still struggling with myself. I sit up against the headboard and pull her up with me.

"Yes, I want more time, but I wouldn't change anything to get us that time. If that makes sense."

Elle nods, but she's looking down at her hands. I trace a finger across her cheek, hoping she'll look at me.

"Look, Elle, there's a million different ways the last few years could have played out. A million points where we could have made different decisions, or had different luck. Maybe we could have figured things out sooner, but we also could just as easily have screwed things up worse, or for longer. And none of it matters now, because _this_ is where we are."

"You just wish this had happened later."

"No. I don't want anything to have happened differently, because it got us here. And I can't really imagine being happier than this."

"Except you want more time."

I'm still not getting it across right.

"The extra time I want—it would still never be enough. Look, I like being with you. I'm always going to want as much of that as I can get. So if I could somehow get more time for just the two of us... yeah, that would be great. But I'd feel that way no matter when this happened. And I don't actually want to delay Dinah getting here, because I want that too."

Elle smiles at me now. "You know that makes no sense, right? We can't have both. But I get it. Change is scary. _Babies_ are scary," she laughs.

"Terrifying," I grin back at her.

"We agree we can deal with that terror without making me sleep in the woods, though, right?"

"For the last time, I was never actually planning—never mind. Yes. We agree."

* * *

We don't end up leaving the apartment at all on Saturday, and after dinner Elle puts on a movie. Apparently not one she cares enough about to pay attention to, though, because she's soon progressed from idly playing with my hair to climbing into my lap and completely ignoring the movie. I have no objections, but I do have to laugh when an on-screen explosion startles her.

"You know, if this was how you wanted to spend the evening, you didn't need the movie excuse. We have our very own apartment, we can make out without escaping to a movie theater or claiming we're going to your room to watch TV."

"I know. But this is... tradition. And maybe I just have a thing for Marvel movie soundtracks in the background," Elle grins.

"We did watch a _lot_ of movies every time I came back to visit. Absolutely none of which I remember."

"Why did we even pretend? It's not like our parents didn't know."

"Because your father is surprisingly terrifying when he wants to be, and _we accidentally fell asleep watching a movie_ was the polite fiction we all agreed to when I was still in your room on Saturday mornings."

"Even though he knew I wasn't staying at a hotel when I was the one flying out to visit."

"Apparently parenthood is going to involve a lot of selective blindness."

"I don't know, we could be the realistic parents who don't pretend their kids never do more than hold hands with their boyfriends or girlfriends."

"Sure. As soon as Dinah's thirty."

"You're expecting her to wait until she's thirty? I hate to tell you this, but she's going to do the math and know _we_ did a lot more than hold hands before then."

"She doesn't have to wait until she's thirty. I'm just not going to acknowledge it before then."

"Awesome plan. We'll see how well that works out sixteenish years from now. Somehow I don't believe you're actually going to ignore her boyfriends."

"You realize this conversation is becoming a real mood-killer, right? And I was rather enjoying the... _mood_ we had going earlier."

Elle giggles. "Yeah. Maybe we should pay attention to the movie for a while until we've forgotten."

* * *

 **SUNDAY**

"Cassandra."

"You're kidding, right?" I stare at Elle from over the rim of my coffee mug, and she glares back from the other end of our couch. She claims there's not enough room on the couch these days for her to be comfortable lying with her head near mine, but mostly she wants an excuse to put her feet in my lap and guilt trip me into another foot rub by reminding me who's to blame for her current discomfort.

"No! I really like Cassandra." Elle insists.

"Isn't her claim to fame that no one listens to her? Hard pass."

"Fine. Your turn."

"Lucy." I propose.

"In the sky with diamonds? No."

"Alice."

"In Wonderland? Also no."

"Mary."

"Literally the most generic girl's name ever."

"Jane."

"Ok, I was wrong. _That_ 's the most generic name. And are you forgetting your mom is named June? June and Jane would be too confusing."

"I was thinking Jane sounded like both our moms' names, actually. Which seemed like a good thing."

"Oh. Well, now I feel like a jerk for shooting it down. But I don't actually want to name her for my mom, or for anyone else. She deserves her own name. Her own story."

"Alright, now that you've rejected all my ideas, hit me with more of yours."

"Calliope."

"Like the circus instrument? No." I swear some of these Elle suggests just to get a rise out of me.

"Persephone."

"Something _not_ from Greek mythology. With fewer than a thousand syllables."

"Andromeda."

" _Elle_." She's got to be kidding me.

"But I _like_ Greek mythology."

"And if we get goldfish, you can give them all the weird names you want. But we're not saddling Dinah with a name like that."

"Ha. You're the one who thinks we should consider actually using _Dinah_ , so you don't get to talk about saddling kids with terrible names."

"It grew on me. And at least it's not four syllables."

"Zero chance. Less than zero."

We scowl at each other again. We've had versions of this argument almost daily this week. Elle likes unusual names. I want a name people recognize, something... normal.

"I guess we'll just call her The Baby. And then later she can be The Kid. Or she can just have one name, just Flynn."

" _No._ " Elle glares.

Yeah, I didn't think Elle would go for that.

"I didn't say I _liked_ those options. I'm just saying that's where we'll end up by default if we can't agree on an actual name," I point out.

"Alexandra. But you can call her Alex since you hate long names. Or Al, if you're really lazy."

"I am not naming my daughter Al."

"Fine. Allie. Lexie. Sandy. Andie. Surely one of those sounds boring enough for you."

"You hated Alice. How is Allie any better?"

Elle releases an exasperated sigh. "It's not. But I'm trying, okay?"

"I mean, it's not your worst idea."

"I'm writing it down. You know, Andie could be a nickname for Andromeda, too."

"Absolutely not. That one _is_ your worst idea."

"Penelope, but you can call her Penny. Or Emilia, and you can shorten it to Em."

"Should we really be planning on calling her different names? I don't recall you being fond of alternative nicknames, Shelly."

"I can deal with you using a nickname if it means her actual name isn't boring."

"Alright, enough for today. Maybe once she's born and you see her nice, cute, _normal_ face you'll be willing to consider normal names."

"Maybe if you stop confusing _normal_ and _boring_. And I'm banking on you feeling pretty grateful and willing to give me whatever I want right then. Wait 'til you hear the name ideas I'm keeping in reserve until then."

The worst part is she's probably not kidding, but I guess I'll have to take my chances. A dozen rounds of the name debate and we still haven't done better than _don't totally hate it_. And while bickering with Elle is a favorite hobby of mine, we're going to need to live with the outcome of this argument a long time. But we're making progress, and we've still got time. It'll never be enough time, and I can't wait.


	56. Twelve Days (3)

**_(Elle)_**

 **MONDAY**

I never spent much time as a kid imagining my wedding, but when I did, Lee was always the groom. We were in agreement on those plans, back then. Marriage meant living together, and who better for that than the friend I already spent all my time with? And then we got older and started getting some notion that marriage also involved liking someone like _that_ , and... no. For a few years I thought maybe that would change, that one day the idea of kissing Lee wouldn't seem so bizarre, but it never did. By then I was past the age of daydreaming about fairy princess weddings anyway, and marriage faded into the background as something I figured would happen... one day. When I was much older. And Lee would still be there, but as my best friend. I rarely thought about the groom part of the equation; that part I'd figure out later.

Perhaps ironically, I thought about weddings even less while Noah and I were dating. At first because I was sixteen and the idea was absurd, but then it became intentional avoidance, especially after I got to Boston. We'd made it through the long distance, we'd gotten over the summer breakup, so... now what? Either this was it, we'd be together forever, or at some point there'd be a worse breakup, a real one, and then it would all just be over. The first outcome was too hard to believe, too much to hope for, so that left only the latter. And since I really didn't want to think about our inevitable end, I simply refused to think about anything beyond the immediate.

Whatever I had or hadn't imagined about my wedding, its reality is fast approaching. Sometimes I can't help but laugh at the idea that on Saturday Noah and I will be married. Not because it's ridiculous, but because I can't quite believe that hazy, far-off, impossibly unlikely, day is suddenly so close. Turns out both of those potential outcomes came true, the dreaded breakup and the forever.

Of course, if we want Saturday to end with us legally married, we need a wedding license, which is why I'm meeting Noah downtown this afternoon. I spent the morning with June and Mickey at the Flynn house, trying on my dress and checking what alterations were still needed, and after lunch June drops me off at the coffee shop where Noah and I agreed to meet.

Noah's eyes gleam when he sees me, and he looks like he's biting back a grin.

"Jesus, Elle, I hope you brought ID."

"I have all the paperwork the website said we'd need to get the license," I assure him.

"And you're absolutely certain that includes some form of ID with your birthdate on it?" He's doing a terrible job of containing his laughter, and I'm really not sure what's so hilarious.

"Yes, of course. Why are you so worried?"

"It's just—I don't want to go to jail. For trying to marry a sixteen-year old. And being responsible for said sixteen-year old's pregnancy. Are you _trying_ to get me in trouble with this outfit?" Noah laughs.

I look down, and... he has a point. I should maybe have glanced in a mirror before leaving the Flynn house. I'd worn a cute dress this morning, but after managing to spill food on my always-in-the-way belly I'd grabbed a clean shirt from Lee's room and a pair of shorts I'd left at the Flynn house. Except that shirt happened to be one of Lee's old Country Day gym shirts, and I'll admit that in combination with the denim cutoffs the look is rather... youthful. Especially in comparison to Noah's distinctly more adult polo and khakis.

"It's really the braids that put the look over the top," Noah gestures, and my hands fly to my hair, suddenly remembering that Mickey had been trying out updos for the wedding, leaving my hair in twin braids down my back.

"Crap. I look about fourteen, don't I?"

"More so than usual, yeah. And while I have the benefit of having known you for all twenty-three of your actual years, the folks at city hall might be more skeptical," Noah grins.

I yank the elastics from the ends of the braids, quickly running my fingers through my hair to shake it loose before twisting it back into a low bun, and then I stand and tug Noah up with me as I head for the back of the coffee shop.

"Elle?" Noah asks me with a curious look as I push him into one of the bathrooms.

"Give me your shirt. We're trading. Then I'll look older."

"No, then we'll look _insane_. I'm guessing that shirt is Lee's, so I'm going to be the weirdo in a tiny shirt, and you'll be the very pregnant woman wearing an oversized polo shirt and no pants. Because there's no way those shorts will still be visible if you steal my shirt. Anyway, relax. That thing you just did with your hair helped a lot."

"You're sure? I could go buy a shirt that doesn't literally scream high school."

"Yes, Shell, I promise. I didn't mean to make this sound like an actual problem, I just thought it was funny."

I stare into the mirror. Yeah, he's probably right, although I really should have raided Lee's closet more carefully. I add a quick swipe of lipstick and some mascara, and now I should at least look legal to vote.

Noah squeezes my hand. "You look great. I'm sorry for panicking you. I was just teasing."

It's as we're walking into the county registrar's office that Noah looks at me again with an innocent expression.

"But you _did_ bring proof of age, right?"

I very maturely flip him off.

* * *

 **TUESDAY**

I only make it a few laps of our apartment complex's pool before retreating to its entry steps for a rest. I've been trying to keep up some kind of daily exercise, but these days that involves fewer and fewer laps and longer and longer rest periods. There are worse things than sitting on the cool stone steps with water up to my chest and watching Noah swim, though. He takes his own break after a while, sitting behind me on the steps so I can lean back against him.

I wasn't much of a lap swimmer before Dad's accident. I grew up spending endless hours in the Flynns' pool with Lee, but we were always just hanging out, and soccer provided more than enough exercise. The same was true at BU, plus I never could get used to New England's indoor pools and their clammy, chlorinated air. All that changed once I was back home. June inspired it. I visited her almost daily while Dad was hospitalized, usually while Brad was in school; she'd make me tea and we'd talk—about Dad, about Brad, about Lee, about ourselves, but never about Noah. June has swum laps in the morning for as long as I've known her, and eventually I started showing up early enough to join her. Swimming helped, a little. I felt less antsy, less anxious afterward. I kept it up at UCLA; as much random luck as was required for Noah to have seen me at the campus aquatic center, it was also one of the better places he could have tried, if his goal had actually been to find me. And now here I am, and here we are.

Noah's playing with my hair as we talk, and after a minute I realize he's also tracing and retracing loops over my right shoulder blade. It's not the first time I've noticed him fascinated by my tattoo, but I've always been too embarrassed to ask if he's heard the story. Which is ridiculous, and which is why I make myself finally do it.

"Did Lee tell you about the stars? The tattoo, I mean."

"He did."

I'm not surprised. I don't know if I should ask _what_ Lee told him.

"I love them, and I hate them," Noah unexpectedly continues. "I love what they mean, but I hate knowing why you did it. Why you were so sad."

"So sad, and so drunk. I assume Lee mentioned that detail, too. I should have called you. It was all so stupid. But that's ancient history."

Noah stays silent as his fingertips keep circling at my shoulder, so I go on.

"I've never regretted it, though. Even if it wasn't a particularly well-planned decision, and even if back then I didn't want to think about why I'd added the third star. Lee really has always been there, and you've... always belonged there, even when I didn't let you."

Noah lets out a short huff, but I keep going before he can say anything; I don't feel like another round of dissecting our misadventures.

"If you're going to get angsty every time you see it, though, I could always add a bunch more stars as a background for that unicorn tattoo I always wanted as a kid."

My joke elicits the intended chuckle from Noah.

"Or are you just jealous that you don't have your own matching tattoo? I'm sure Lee would be honored if you included him and put three stars in yours. Or he'd tell us how bizarre he still finds all of this. One or the other."

"Definitely the latter, and for once I'd agree with him," Noah laughs. "But tell me more about this unicorn. Rainbow, or a tasteful monochromatic purple?"

"Rainbow, obviously. And I assume there's a way they can add glitter to tattoos."

Noah wraps both arms around me, pulling me closer.

"I wouldn't actually want you to change it. You know that, right? It's not like without the stars I'd forget those years, or feel less frustrated about them. And like I said, I do love seeing them."

"Yeah, because seeing them means my shirt is off."

"Fringe benefits, Shelly."

* * *

 **WEDNESDAY**

By Wednesday we've basically run out of things to keep us busy. I do have my weekly prenatal appointment, but it's just as boring as last week's. Everything still looks good and Dinah continues to show no rush in meeting us, which is fine with me. We're also as ready as we can be for the wedding—we've picked up Noah's wedding band from the jeweller, the seamstress has promised to drop my dress off tomorrow, my favorite suit of Noah's is back from the cleaners, and there's an envelope on which I've written _Wedding license - do not lose!_ hanging from a magnet on our fridge. All the other details, June's got covered.

Getting the wedding license ended up rather anticlimactic. This whole marriage business feels monumental to me, and yet there was clearly nothing more boring to the clerk who checked our paperwork, asked a few questions, and then handed us an ordinary-looking sheet of paper. And just like that, we'd gotten the green light from California to get married.

The closer Saturday gets, the more surreal it seems. June's judge friend will say some stuff, we'll exchange vows and rings, we'll all sign the license, and voila, married. It seems impossibly simple for something so momentous. But then again, it's not like when we wake up on Sunday everything will have changed. It's an important formality, a legally-significant moment, but on the personal level, it's nothing compared to what it took to get here.

We end up spending Wednesday making plans for next week, trying to make sure we take advantage of that last bit of calm before the storm. We also impulsively book a hotel for Saturday and Sunday; it won't be much of a honeymoon, but I like the idea of not just going straight home from the wedding like it's any other day. Then I get it into my head that we need to make food. A lot of food, to fill our freezer for the weeks after the baby. Noah reminds me of the million take-out options nearby, but he humors me as I work myself into a frenzy looking up recipes and making a lengthy grocery list. And then I realize that although we've got a nursery full of tiny clothes, they've all still got tags on, and aren't you supposed to wash new clothes before putting them on babies? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere, and so that's my next project to tackle.

Near midnight, Noah looks up at me from across the mountain of clean laundry I've just dumped on the couch between us. The coffee table is covered in neat piles of washed, dried, and folded onesies and pyjamas.

"How are you not exhausted yet?" Noah asks curiously.

"Because we're not done yet. There's this batch, and then one more load washing right now, and _then_ we can sleep."

Noah's giving me a look, but he doesn't reply, merely picking up a tiny shirt to fold.

I glare at him. "You're smirking. Your I'm-not-telling-you-something-but-I'm-thinking-it smirk. I hate that one. Spit it out."

Now he's just laughing at me.

" _What?_ "

"You're very cute when you're nesting. Terrifyingly bossy, but also cute."

Oh, I will kill him. He is sitting there _laughing_ while I try to get all this laundry folded, because this baby will be here soon and there is a _lot_ I've just realized we still need to do, and — oh.

"You were about to deny it, weren't you? Except you can't, because I'm right." Noah smugly adds.

I try to keep glaring at him, but I give in and laugh.

"How long were you going to let me keep going?"

"I mean, the cooking was a good idea. And I've never seen you this enthusiastic about laundry, so that was entertaining. But you're also very cranky when you don't get enough sleep, so... maybe let's finish this tomorrow?"

The calendar catches my eye as I silence my phone before getting into bed. It's past midnight now, which means June is over and all of a sudden it's July. _July_ has been the magic milestone for most of this year, the month when everything was going to change, the critical deadline by which I needed to have my shit together. I'd only had my due date in mind when I'd first circled July in red on my mental calendar, but now there's more. Two more days and we'll be married. Two more weeks and we'll be parents. The urge to go fold more laundry, fill the fridge, organize _something_ , anything, hits again, but this time I ignore it. We've got this, and what I need now is sleep.

* * *

 **THURSDAY**

June hosts dinner for the whole family on Thursday night, including everyone in town for the wedding. It's weirdly reminiscent of long-ago Thanksgivings, except this time Noah and I are the occasion. It's fun, and I'm thrilled to see them all, but it's also exhausting being the center of attention. I keep finding excuses to make Lee talk about what he's up to, about the trips he's planning this summer and his upcoming move to Seattle, and eventually I succeed in getting everyone paying attention to him for a few minutes.

Noah squeezes my hand with a sly smile, and I think he knows exactly what I was up to and why I'm now breathing a sigh of relief. I grin back, giving him a wink.

"We're really doing this," I say only loud enough for him to hear.

"Yup."

"In two days. In two days we're getting married. Legally. Officially."

"Don't go getting cold feet on me, Shell," Noah teases.

"I'm not! I'm just... amazed. I'm going to keep repeating it until it sounds real."

"Is it that hard to believe?"

"Not hard to believe... but really really weird. In a good way."

"Yeah, well, please don't change your mind, because I'm afraid of your grandma now."

"Grandma Melanie?" My mom's mom is a tiny bird of a woman, and she's always loved Noah.

"She cornered me before dinner and told me she was glad you and I were taking responsibility for our—and I quote— _youthful folly_. And then she lectured me about birth control."

"She did _not_."

"If only I were lying, Shelly."

"You could have told her we weren't actually foolish, just unlucky."

"I don't think that would have made the conversation any less awkward. Besides, it'd be a lie."

"How?"

"Because I don't think we _were_. The opposite, actually."

I know that playful grin. "We got lucky, huh?"

Noah is the only person I know capable of a heartfelt smirk, and it makes my stomach flip every time.

* * *

Everyone lingers over tea after dinner, and I'm enjoying getting to know June's sister. Jen is twelve years younger, and for most of my childhood she was off at college or working abroad. I cringed at first when she started talking about her kids' births, girding myself for another round of the horror stories people love sharing with pregnant women, but her stories have turned out to be hilarious. She's also keen to hear more about Noah's and my history; she's been getting tidbits from June through the years, but apparently June's not nearly enough of a gossip for Jen's liking.

"Look at my sister," Jen whispers conspiratorially. "I'm shocked she hasn't literally exploded with joy, she's wanted this for you two for so long. And she didn't even have to do _any_ nagging for a baby."

I blush. "Yeah, Noah was kind of banking on that when we told her. That a grandchild would buy us a lot of forgiveness for being such idiots about all of this."

"Oh, she'd have been thrilled even without the baby, I promise. I'm amazed she managed not to meddle all that time you two were avoiding each other, because believe me, she wanted to."

I shrug ruefully. "June also knows we're both stupidly stubborn. Nagging wouldn't have helped."

"Bodes well for this little one, doesn't it?" Jen laughs, and I'm glad she doesn't seem interested in dwelling on that part of our story.

"My dad delights in telling me the same thing."

Jen and I are still chatting about her own unreasonably stubborn kids when Noah appears, a hand on my shoulder to get my attention.

"Come tell me which cufflinks I should wear."

I give him a puzzled look. "For the wedding?"

"Yeah. Mom wants me to borrow something nice from Dad. I figured you might want a vote."

"Wear whatever you want."

I'm fairly sure that even if we spent an entire year planning an elaborate wedding, I still wouldn't have strong feelings about what cufflinks Noah wears for it.

Noah persists, however. "I don't want to clash with what you're wearing. Come take a look."

"You're seriously going to make me get up for this? Fine. Give me a second."

I grumpily set down my mug and lift myself from the couch. It's possible I am somewhat exaggerating the effort required to stand up and then follow Noah up the stairs, but my level of caring about Noah's accessories really is far exceeded by my desire not to move from this comfy couch. At the top of the stairs I'm confused to see Noah turn in the direction opposite his parents' bedroom, and then I giggle as I follow him into his bedroom, finally realizing.

" _Help me pick cufflinks_? That has to be the weakest story you've ever come up with," I comment as Noah shuts the door and leans in to kiss me.

"Is that a challenge? We've got a lifetime of family dinners ahead of us... I bet I can find even worse excuses to sneak away with you."

"Do we really still need to sneak around? Everyone is aware. In two days it'll even be legally recognized."

"So you're saying from now on I can just do this in the living room?"

 _This_ so far involves managing to simultaneously lift me onto his lap as he sits on the edge of his bed and wind a hand through my hair to give him better access to the curve of my neck. He's very fond of that spot, and I'm very fond of that fondness.

"Mmm, on second thought... yeah, we're going to need to keep finding reasons to come up here." And sneaking around _is_ more fun.

I settle myself more comfortably astride Noah's lap, following him as he scoots back to lean against the pillows. I'm looking forward to not having to maneuver around this belly soon, although I'm sure Dinah will present a whole new set of obstacles to romantic activity once she arrives. For now, though, we've definitely gotten resourceful. I busy myself proving that I can still release shirt buttons one-handed and without looking, and I'm wondering exactly how soon our absence will be noticed. Noah certainly seems to believe it'll be awhile, or maybe he just doesn't care.

Suddenly there's a yelp and a slamming door, and I startle back. Noah looks equally dazed, and then he pulls me back in, laughing.

"Lee."

" _Lee_?"

"I, ah, may have forgotten that Mom gave Jen Lee's room for the weekend. Which means he's crashing in here."

That would explain the awful paisley shirt draped on the chair, a detail I wasn't exactly paying attention to when we got here.

There's an overly-loud knock, and then Lee's voice from the other side of the door.

"For the love of God, you have your own apartment. I want my headphones. I am opening this door in ten seconds. Please don't make me regret that."

There isn't actually much needed to get us back to fully decent, and by the time Lee knocks again before walking in Noah and I are sitting a respectable distance apart, our clothes only slightly rumpled and our expressions only slightly guilty.

"I hate you both. I was supposed to sleep here tonight, you know. Now I'm going to have to sleep on the balcony or something, to be safe from the cooties."

There's a dangerous twinkle in Noah's eye, and I slap a hand over his mouth before he can break it to Lee that the balcony isn't any safer on that front. Or really anywhere in this house; we did have it to ourselves for three days after two years apart.

"Sorry, Lee. I promise, nobody was naked. Come on, you've walked in on worse." I point out.

"Reminding me of that _does not help_."

Noah is far too amused by all of this, but at least he's staying quiet, and I pull him behind me as I sheepishly walk to the door.

"I don't suppose there's any possibility you two would reconsider this whole gross infatuation of yours? As a personal favor to me?" Lee's put on his most aggrieved voice, but he can't hide his smile.

"Not a chance. But we'll try to be better about locking doors."

"Seven billion people, Elle. _Seven billion_."

"Yeah, but this one's my favorite."


	57. Moments

**_(Noah)_**

There are moments of my life etched in memory, moments whose every detail has never left me. Some happy, some not. Many, maybe most, involving Elle. Now is one of those moments, but it's far from the first.

* * *

It's Lee's and Elle's sixteenth birthday party, and her laugh is the first thing I hear when I walk outside. That's nothing new, she's always around, always giggling her head off about whatever nonsense she and Lee are up to. What _is_ new is the feeling that shoots through me at the sight of her.

I can't solely blame the dress she's wearing for my reaction, even if the way it slides over her silhouette absolutely isn't helping. After all, I've seen Elle a million times before, in every kind of outfit, including many a lot more revealing than this one. In her school uniforms, in her soccer gear, in swimsuits and bikinis, in dresses for parties and in sweats for movie nights. And it's not like I'd never noticed that she's pretty. But she's also... Shelly. I may not share Lee's belief that she's practically a sister—the sibling he'd much rather have gotten instead of me—but she's still in her own category. A category I really shouldn't be reacting this way to.

Tuppen walks up to me with a knowing look, and I realize he's caught me staring at Elle. The same Tuppen that last week after practice included her on his list of girls he intended to hook up with this summer. The detention I earned for that fight was worth it, but it doesn't seem to have left enough of an impression. The jackass just keeps smirking when I glare at him, lifting his bottle in a mocking toast and congratulating me for finally noticing what everyone else had. He walks away before I can react, and I realize he's right: I was staring at Elle just the way he and those other creeps do, and the fact that I feel guilty about it doesn't make it much better. So I walk back inside and distract myself as best I can. Lee's outside with her, and I can trust him to watch out for her.

Later that evening Elle spots me kissing Morgan and gives me a scornful look. Who knows if that's because Elle knows Morgan was Tuppen's date or if it's just Elle's usual scorn for my social activities, but either way the mood is ruined now that all I can think about is Elle. Again. Elle in that shimmery blue dress that I really wish were a lot longer and a lot baggier and a lot uglier and just generally a lot more... resistible. Elle in that shimmery blue dress, lifting one disdainful eyebrow at me and shaking her head as she walks away. I bail on the party at that point, and I tell myself not to invite Elle to parties anymore, at least not until I can shake off this ill-advised attraction.

* * *

It's the night of the kissing booth, and I'm parking my motorcycle next to a diner I'm grateful to find still open this late. The place is nearly empty as I wait for my coffee and I'm glad for the quiet. Then again, I already got a lot of solitary thinking time on the ride up here and it doesn't seem to have helped any. I kissed Shelly. I kissed Shelly and I desperately want to do so again, no matter how terrible of an idea that is.

If it had just been that kiss at the kissing booth, maybe I could convince myself it was no big deal. Well, those two kisses. I can't be blamed for the first one; the whole ridiculous kissing booth concept was _her_ brainchild, and _she_ practically ordered me to show up. And the second kiss, well, maybe I could blame that one on temporary insanity. A primal reaction before my brain could remind me my fascination with her is dangerous.

But everything after leaving the carnival... I'm out of excuses. I spent the hour after kissing her mentally listing all the reasons why it shouldn't happen again, and then a rain-soaked Shelly leapt at me and all those reasons dissolved. I wish I could blame temporary insanity here too, but I very distinctly remember staring at her, telling myself I shouldn't kiss her back, and then doing so anyway. Deliberately. Because I wanted to. Because the fact that _she_ clearly wanted me to thrilled me.

Except all too soon we were interrupted and Shelly was reminded of why this is a terrible idea. Why she deserves a lot better. Not that I'd intended another kiss when I'd pulled off the road, or stopped for any reason beyond not getting us killed. It was just my damn luck that I've got some history in this gazebo and that a wiseass guard decided to torture me with it.

So now I'm drinking my coffee and running through that list of reasons again. Because she's Lee's best friend and my mom practically considers her a daughter. Because if this ends poorly it's going to be painfully awkward for a really long time. Because she's never dated anyone and if I'm honest neither have I, at least not in the way she seems to want. Dating is complicated. Dating implies feelings beyond two people having some no-expectations fun. It's a terrible idea.

Except I want to. Because she drives me crazy. Because I'm disappointed when I get home and she and Lee are elsewhere. Because I know the instant she walks into any room. Because ever since that rainy afternoon in this very diner I've been hoping for another opportunity to be alone with her. Yeah, I'm well aware this is the same diner. I may not have recognized it when I pulled over, but as soon as I walked in I realized where I was, and the memories of that day aren't helping at all.

I don't come to any grand conclusions sitting in that diner that night. I don't resolve to stay away from her, nor do I convince myself this could work. All I do is acknowledge the obvious. That my feelings for Elle might run a lot deeper than a crush, and that I'd like a chance to find out, no matter the risks.

* * *

It's my senior year, a day before prom. I've been crashing with a guy I know from football camp for over a week. I drove restlessly, aimlessly, angrily after leaving my house last week, after Elle told me to go; I needed to get away, to put as many miles between us as I could, but I wasn't sure where to go. Every place I'd usually escape to reminds me of her now. Finally I ended up at Ryan's house, and for the past week I've been trying not to think about any of it. About Elle, about the fight, about Lee, about how all of this collapsed so easily. And about how I should have expected this outcome. Should have known that she'd always pick him over me, always forgive him anything but me nothing.

Mom knows where I've been staying. I haven't told her why, but I'm sure Lee's publicized my grand treachery, my unforgivable error in judgment. As though falling for Elle had been a choice. As though the folly hadn't been as much hers as mine, although I'm sure Lee is punishing _her_ too. It's been a week, and now it's time to come home and get used to a new reality, at least long enough to graduate and find an excuse to head to Boston early. Which is why I'm pulling into the school parking lot this afternoon, my bag full of final assignments I need to hand in if I want to actually graduate. It's a Friday at three, which means Elle is at soccer practice and I can duck in and out of the school without any awkward encounters.

Except she's not at soccer practice. She's sitting at one of the outdoor tables, her head buried in homework, and at the sight of her I realize everything I've been telling myself all week has been a lie. None of this was a mistake. All of it was real, is real, and I still want this to work out. Still love her, even if it's only in this moment that I'm understanding that's the right word. I'm not over her, and I've got to give this another shot. Somehow.

I'm tempted to just go up to Elle right now and tell her all this, but instead I make myself park on the far side of the parking lot, out of sight. I've got to find the right words first. Some way to show her how serious I am. But this morning's plan, the plan to accept the situation and move on, went out the window the second I saw her again.

* * *

It's the weekend before I need to fly back to Boston for my sophomore year, and I have never loved and hated Lee more. That ass talked me into driving out to the beach house with him, kept smirking and watching the door once we got here, and now he's stolen my car after snatching Elle's keys from her hand as soon as she walked in.

I'd be furious at Lee for trapping me with her, except I'm too busy watching Elle's face shift seamlessly from confusion to fury to helpless laughter. She still looks bewildered, she's still cursing Lee, but her attempts to speak keep collapsing into giggles, and suddenly I realize that I'm grinning at her, realize that I have been since basically the second the door slammed shut behind Lee.

Our reactions make no sense. It's not the first time we've seen each other since the breakup, despite our attempts to avoid each other. All summer we've glared at each other from across the room at parties. Just a few days ago I had to talk myself out of decking a guy I saw with an arm around Elle. She saw me, too, and it was her look daring me to react that kept me away. So instead I left the party and texted back a girl I'd met earlier that week.

And now we're staring at each other from across a room again, but there are no glares this time. We may both be ridiculously stubborn, but our idiocy does have limits. Besides, I'm having trouble remembering why we fought in the first place when all I can think about is how much I love kissing Shelly when she's laughing. So there's not really any decision to be made, not really any choice but to close that distance between us. Her hands are already tangling through my hair as I lift her closer, and as she wraps her legs around me and my arms tighten across her back, both of us reflexively relax into each other, finally getting back to where we belong.

* * *

It's a Monday morning in October nine months ago, and I'm trying to memorize the sight of Elle sleeping. Not that I'd ever forgotten it, but it's been two years and I'm still discovering the subtle differences between my memories and the reality now curled against me. Her hair, the longest I've seen it, its coppery sun streaks regained. A new scattering of freckles and those three tiny stars I can't stop tracing. The fuller curve of her hips and some faint scars and fading bruises near her knees that tell me she's still playing soccer. So much the same and yet so much I need to catch up on, two years I've missed and hope she'll share with me.

I woke up today just as I did yesterday morning, with a brief moment of disbelief that the Shelly in my arms, soft and warm with sleep, was real and not merely a dream I'd soon wake from. Relief followed, and then frustration. Frustration that for two years I'd ignored what those dreams were telling me and tried to convince myself of a lie instead. The same lie I'd told myself as I hid out at Ryan's senior year. The same lie I'd told myself that summer we wasted being idiots. The same lie I'd tried to protect by spending the past two years dodging any chance of seeing Elle, because I knew what would happen if I did. And now I have, and here we are.

The question is how we stay here. How we make this reunion the last we'll ever need. I'm in love with Elle, still, always, but we can't keep putting each other through this. So today we need to talk. We need to figure out what went wrong, and we need a plan to keep the distance from making us miserable until I can move back here, or wherever it is we decide to live next. I don't know what Elle's planning after graduation, and I have decisions of my own to make, but I know this time we need to put _us_ first.

* * *

I'm sitting on an uncomfortable couch in an unfamiliar apartment, my head tipped back, my jaw clenched, my eyes closed as memories flash past even faster than my heart is racing. A hundred vignettes from our past, all somehow leading here, to this moment I'm still struggling to understand.

Lee's annoying sidekick, except every time she's at our house I find a reason to stay close by. Lee's infuriating and distressingly attractive sidekick that I absolutely shouldn't fall for, except by the time I understand the risk it's too late. Elle, giggling and kissing me like nothing else matters. Elle, chasing after Lee and then turning angry eyes to me. Then, our second chance. A year always aware of exactly how many days since our last visit and until the next one. A foolish breakup, a summer wasted, and then our third chance. Two years of thinking we'd figured it out, of relaxing and enjoying each other. A summer with Elle all to myself and a growing confidence in our future. Then, the accident. One disaster avoided, another unexpected. Years where my memories of Elle are memories of absence and of a slow coming to my senses. October, when our fourth chance didn't even make it past a weekend—but its consequences did.

Elle, pregnant. At the pool, her swimsuit revealing a secret I can't believe she'd keep from me. At her door, my long-disappeared hoodie wrapped around her like armor. Clinging to me as she cries and I wrestle a jumble of conflicting emotions. Elle, looking at me with that determined face as she finally answers the question that's been torturing me since I saw her.

And now, clarity. Clarity in the form of Elle's hand gripping mine as an incomprehensible creature kicks sense into both of us. I finally sit up and open my eyes, and it's Elle. No matter how many times we've screwed up, no matter how we've hurt each other, no matter how furious and terrified and confused I am right now, the answer is still always going to be that I want to be with her. It's Elle, and the hundred heavy conversations ahead of us will need to wait, because first I want to enjoy this moment and this news. Because despite the fury and the terror and the confusion, I also can't deny that I'm strangely, unexpectedly thrilled.

I look at her again, let our eyes meet, wrap her hands in mine. This is one of those moments, I realize. One of those moments when time slows down just enough for me to understand we're at a turning point. No matter what's happened so far, what happens next is up to us.

* * *

The terrace doors slide open, Elle steps out, and I realize this is it. The next time someone mentions weddings—probably every time someone does for the next forever years— _this_ is what I'm going to see in my mind. Elle, laughing as she arrives fashionably late to her own wedding, and both of us stilling as our eyes meet. There's no long church aisle separating us, no bridal party lined up between us, just our closest family and friends gathered on a rooftop terrace above the courthouse. Right now, though, it might as well be just the two of us.

All week Elle has refused to tell me anything about her dress, and now I finally get to see it. It's silvery, with some kind of decoration across the top that sparkles in the sunlight. The skirt is plainer, but it swings gracefully at her knees as she approaches me and I can only hope someone's recording this moment. Her hair is up, twisted and braided into a complicated arrangement, and as pretty as it looks I want nothing more than to pull all the pins out and run my fingers through her hair until it's loose and free again, the way I've always loved it best. But that will have to wait until later. For now, I'm just going to stare at her and memorize this moment.

Elle's staring at me, too, and I see her gaze drift down from my eyes to my tie, followed by a grin. I didn't exactly plan this, but after Lee managed to splash coffee on the tie I'd intended to wear, it was either raid Dad's closet, send someone to my apartment to grab another of my ties while staying out of Mom's and Mickey's way as they helped Elle get ready, or... wear the one striped uniform tie still hanging in my closet here. And I had no doubt which of those options would entertain Elle most. At least Lee didn't manage to ruin my suit—Elle specifically demanded I wear this one, and now I see why, since its charcoal color complements the pale grey of her dress. I let my gaze wander and linger over her before returning her grin, and the wink I throw in has the welcome effect of taming the dampness of my eyes.

There are moments from my life etched in memory, moments whose every detail has never left me. Some happy, some not. Many, maybe most, involving Elle. Now is one of those moments, and this time, I realize it as it's happening. I know right now that everything I'm seeing, everything I'm hearing, everything I'm feeling, will stay with me forever. So it would be a shame to rush. We can stand here and grin goofily at each other as long as we want; none of our guests will mind.

It's not like this is the first I've seen Elle today. Usually I'm the first one up, the one watching Elle bury her head under a pillow rather than let the morning light wake her. This morning, though, I opened my eyes to find her staring impatiently at me despite it still being dark out. I recognized a Shelly on a mission, and I should have guessed what that mission was. Already last night she'd been trying to convince me we should hike to the letters, and this morning I gave in. Sure, we'd just gone last week. Sure, she's even more ridiculously pregnant today than she was then. Sure, we had a full day of rather important plans ahead of us that we should have been saving our energy for. None of those eminently reasonable points stood a chance compared to Elle having decided we should, and so off we went.

No one else was around when we arrived just after sunrise, and for a few minutes we sat there in easy silence. Sometimes I wonder what I would have done if I'd known then, that first time here together, what we were getting into. How all this was going to play out. It would have been terrifying, that I know, so maybe our blithe ignorance was for the best.

I'm not sure either of us said a word the whole time we sat there this morning; we just watched the sky become light, exchanged a smile, then headed back to the car. We got home just in time for Mom to show up with Mickey and kick me out, and now I'm glad we had that quiet moment to start this day of all days. Elle was right, as usual.

Now we've got an audience for our wordless beaming, and eventually the spell is broken; we look away from each other, we remember everyone else around us, and we remember why we're here. Time speeds back to its usual pace, but it all still feels surreal.

Mom's friend Carol, dressed in her judicial robes, smiles and asks if we're ready, and I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be. We gather by the railing, Elle and I facing Carol and the others clustered behind us. The photographer discreetly motions and nudges until she can see everyone, but otherwise there's no formal arrangement, no picking of sides. I'm surprised to find Lee standing next to me rather than Elle, until I realize he's positioned himself to make faces at her. Mom glares at him, but it seems appropriate. He can keep on being her deranged sidekick; he and I both know who's luckier here and I'm glad he's forgiven me for it.

Carol greets us all, she offers some comments about love and marriage she tells us she always likes to share at weddings, and then it's on to the vows. We'd intended to write our own, but after several hours of trading ever sillier, more suggestive, or otherwise inappropriate ideas for vows, Elle and I finally settled on one of the examples Carol sent. It may not be personalized or novel, but it's simple, classic, and we like the ritual of it. Soon we're exchanging rings, and then, somehow, that's it, we're married. It seems way, way too easy compared to the years that got us here.

After many rounds of congratulations and posing for pictures I manage to escape with Elle to a quiet corner.

"Mom gave me this before she kicked me out this morning," I tell Elle as I pull a picture from my jacket pocket. She takes it from me curiously, then bursts out laughing at the sight of herself and Lee, dressed in their best four year old approximations of a bride and groom.

"Oh god, she's never going to let me live this down. She's teased me about that wedding at least five times this week. Wait—is that _you_?" Elle asks, peering closer. There I am in the background, scowling.

"Yep. You tried to make me play the minister, and when I refused I got in trouble for being mean to you guys."

"See, now I know it was jealousy making you refuse," she teases me.

"Back then? Don't take this the wrong way, but no. Unless you mean jealousy of only children."

"Whatever, it was totally jealousy," Elle insists with a laugh.

"You're giving my six year old self way too much credit. It took me a lot longer than that to realize you weren't the most annoying creature on Earth."

"Oh yeah? So when was it?"

I really can't help it when she makes it this easy. "I guess... maybe last week?"

Elle shoves me lightly, and I use the opportunity to pull her into my arms.

"Come on, you know I'm kidding. _Lee_ has always been the most annoying person on Earth. You were... second-most annoying, at worst."

"I can assure you, that opinion was mutual." Elle mutters into my chest, relaxing against me. "I can't believe I had this nice sappy moment planned and here you are, being a smartass."

I chuckle and smooth a hand over her hair, resisting the urge to free it from its careful arrangement. "Tell me more about these sappy plans. I'll be quiet."

"I'm not sure I believe you. Or that I'd actually want you to be."

Elle snuggles in with a satisfied sigh, then continues. "Fine, I'll tell you despite your attempt to torpedo this romantic moment. Look inside your ring."

I have to let go of Elle to slip my ring off, and I squint against the bright sunshine to read the tiny lettering I've just discovered inside. _Crazy about you_ , the tight script reads.

"Are you quoting me about you, or is this a message from you to me?" I ask Elle.

"Either. Both. Your pick," she tells me with a smile.

"Both, then. But I believe you insisted my wedding band had to match yours, and now it doesn't."

"Wrong. I had mine engraved too." She sounds deservedly smug, and I wonder how she managed it; I haven't seen her without her ring since the night we got engaged.

"Same inscription?"

"That's what 'matching' means, yes."

"So you're still stealing my lines, I see."

"I told you—what's yours is mine. Officially, now."

Elle tucks herself against me again once I've got my ring back on, and we stare out at the view together. We can probably get away with another minute to ourselves before we need to return to our guests.

"It really wasn't a line, you know." I add.

"Sure it wasn't," she laughs.

I turn my attention back to the view, and I realize how many of our landmarks are staring back at us, even if they're too far off to make out. Our old neighborhood, the pier, our school, Elle's UCLA apartment and our new one, and of course those letters in the distance. A lot of history, a lot of vivid memories, but even more ahead.


	58. Blame the Shoes

**_(Elle)_**

Getting married turns out to be a lot of fun, especially when someone else has done all the work for you. June, to be specific—I highly recommend having June Flynn plan your entire wedding. Of course, she may only be willing to do that if you marry one of her sons, and I am not at all sorry to tell you that one of those sons is completely off the market. The second one is also quite the catch, though, so let me know if you want me to set you up. But not, like, right now, because things are a little hectic at the moment. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Noah probably thought I'd lost my mind, insisting we go for a hike this morning, but I'm so glad we did. I'd slept terribly all night, too full of anticipation and nerves, and by the time I'd given up on falling back asleep I was so antsy with nervous energy that I needed to get up and just _go_ somewhere. We didn't talk much as we made our way in the breaking dawn to the Hollywood sign and back, and we didn't need to; just being together on this familiar path was enough. I fell asleep on the drive back, the physical effort of the hike and the emotional reassurance of the ritual having finally calmed my restlessness.

The rest of the morning flew by in a blur. June and Mickey fussing over me, Dad and Brad showing up to drive me downtown, the unexpected but welcome presence of even more of our relatives than June had let on, Carol's warm words and gentle teasing when we both managed to stumble nervously over our own names in the vows, and, of course, Noah. You'd think after all this time he couldn't still knock the wind out of me with one crooked grin, but of course he can, and it was when I stepped onto that terrace and saw him that the reality of today fully hit. The reason we were all gathered here, the reason I'd been unable to sleep last night, the reason I was blinking back tears. We'd made it here, made it to this milestone, and for a brief moment time slowed enough for me to breathe it all in.

As wonderful as today has been, I _am_ wishing I'd picked more comfortable shoes. The sleek silver heels Mickey talked me into may be the perfect match for my dress, but they're also killing my back, and I sit down and temporarily kick them off as soon as we get to the restaurant where June has organized the reception. We took a million pictures after the ceremony, the mid-day sun beating down on us, and now I need a minute to stretch my back and rest my legs.

One of the waitresses makes a beeline for me, asking if I need anything, and after a second of staring confusedly at each other we realize we took a class together my first semester at UCLA. Audrey's full of questions after that, eager to hear what I've been up to and when I'm due and how I met Noah, and I hesitate before answering. I know from experience what will happen if I say I've known him forever and that we started dating in high school: excited squeals about how romantic that is and how lucky we are. Which isn't exactly untrue, but swooning comments about marrying my high school sweetheart make me uneasy. Our history is more complicated than that, but even without our own particularly tangled path I'm not sure that being high school sweethearts is as dreamy as it sounds.

What people don't get, or maybe intentionally forget, is that it's terrifying, falling in love in high school. You're pretty sure you've just discovered what being in love is, but you're also pretty sure it can't last. And you know the breakup is going to be awful, but you also know it's inevitable. Because you're fifteen or sixteen or seventeen or even eighteen, and that feels a long way off from actual adulthood. Look around, and count how many people you know married to the first person they ever dated. So the odds aren't working in your favor, when you're sixteen and head over heels.

Now, add that guy you're in love with being a constant presence in your life. Your best friend's brother. The son of the closest thing to a mom you've got left. This isn't a family you can walk away from. No matter what happens with this guy, you're going to see him, hear about him, sit across holiday dinners from him, forever. Including after the breakup. Including when he brings the next girl home to meet his parents. You'll almost certainly be at his _wedding_. You tell yourself that's a long way off. Plenty of time for you both to have gotten over however bad the breakup turns out to be. But you're not sure you actually believe that, because right now you can't imagine not being in love with him. Not being destroyed by the idea of him with someone else.

So yeah, high school romances can be kind of overwhelming. Not to mention, even just getting to that part, to the crazy in love but terrified about it phase, wasn't easy.

I was thrilled to find my feelings for Noah reciprocated, but also freaked out. Before the kissing booth, my crush on Noah had seemed safe. Besides all the obvious reasons every girl at school had a crush on him, part of his appeal to _me_ was that I knew him, trusted him. Sure, we argued a lot, and he tended to torture Lee more than necessary, but I could trust him not to be a complete jerk. Even if he did notice the infatuation, I didn't think he'd mock me for it, at least not to anyone else. More importantly, I knew he'd never try to take advantage of my crush, because why would he even care? He was busy with his million admirers and I was his annoying little brother's even more annoying sidekick.

Of course, the hope was that he _wouldn't_ notice. That the crush would run its course, that I'd get over it, and that Noah would never find out how often I'd elected to hang out at Lee's house just in case Noah might be home. That Noah would never notice my blush whenever we accidentally brushed against each other or he laughed at one of my jokes. Except then we kissed, and suddenly my feelings for Noah were the opposite of safe. Suddenly I was head over heels and in over my head, and panicked about all the ways this could go wrong.

The thing is, those fears turned out to be accurate. Things were exactly as terrible and awkward after our breakup as I'd dreaded they would be. After _all_ of our breakups. Falling in love with Noah was just as spectacularly dangerous an idea as I'd feared in those first heady days. I'd been right—but only partially. Because it was all still worth it.

Even if you'd asked me a year ago, when we were nearly two years into hiding from each other, I'd still have told you that the gamble had been worth it. We'd had a few amazing years, and even in our lowest moments I wouldn't have given up those years to spare myself the heartbreak. And while my sixteen year old self had been right about how painful the inevitable breakup would be, she hadn't realized that might not be the end of the story. That people could fall in love, wreck it all, and get another chance.

Or several extra chances, in our case, but even that is reassuring. The reason it's rare to marry your high school love is that you're still growing and evolving. Your adult selves may turn out incompatible, and then comes that breakup you've been dreading. Worse yet, you end up incompatible, but you lie to yourself and stay together anyway, because it's been so long and moving on is just too scary. If there's a bright side to our history, it's that we avoided those doubts. Whatever evolving we each did, our new selves kept finding their way back together.

But all of that is a thousand times more detail than people want when they ask how we met, and a thousand times more detail than I feel like sharing. So when Audrey coos about how sweet it is that we've known each other forever, I just smile. It _is_ pretty sweet, and all the more because we had to work for it.

But enough brooding, because right now I've got a party to enjoy. My very own wedding reception, to be precise, and I'm not about to let impractical shoes and an aching back ruin it.

* * *

Dad's been quiet all day, even more so than his usual, and while everyone else is distracted by the arrival of the first course I seize the opportunity to sit myself next to him.

"Is your leg bothering you?" Dad hates to admit when he's in pain.

"No, it's fine. Just wanted to sit back and enjoy watching you two for a bit. But sitting with you is even better."

I rest my head on Dad's shoulder, relishing the familiar smell of his cologne and tickle of his beard.

"She would have loved this, you know. She hated big weddings," Dad goes on.

I don't need to ask who _she_ is. "But _your_ wedding was big."

"Only because your grandparents insisted. Your mom kept threatening to elope, but in the end she let them have the big formal affair they wanted. _This_ is more what she would have wanted for you."

"Including the groom?" I can't help joking.

Dad laughs. "She'd have been just fine with the groom. Surprised, but just fine. Now, if you'd asked _me_ back then..."

I grin back at him. "And yet you were shockingly tolerant of my terrible teenage decisions."

"Yes, well, I was aware of the likely outcome of telling you what to do."

"So you kept quiet and hoped I'd see sense?"

Dad doesn't answer, merely giving me a pointed stare.

"And how'd that plan work out for you?" I tease him.

"Quite well. It took longer than I expected, but you both finally got some sense."

I snuggle closer to him. It seems impossible that soon there'll be someone looking to _me_ for the steady reassurance Dad always provides. Impossible and a little daunting.

"Am I going to magically get wise like you once I'm a parent? Or is there a secret instruction manual you still haven't shared with me?"

"There's no manual, Elle. You just figure it out as you go."

"Can I call you when I get lost, though?" I'd meant it as a joke, but my voice catches on the words.

"Of course. But not at two a.m., mind you. I've put in my time on the baby night shift already." Dad's attempt at a stern expression makes me giggle.

"Fine. I'll call June instead. _She_ won't abandon me just because it's late."

"Mmm, yes, June _is_ a much bigger pushover. Definitely call _her_ with all your late night questions and I'll take the day shift."

Dad and I share another smile, and then a quiet minute before I reluctantly sit up.

"I should get back out there. I still haven't talked to Frank, or to my cousins."

"Don't worry about making everyone else happy today, Elle. We're just glad to be here, and to see _you_ happy."

"Yeah, but—I'm glad you're all here too, and I don't want to miss anyone."

"You'll get to see us all again soon enough, when Dinah shows up. Today is for you and Noah. Don't let the rest of us monopolize your time."

* * *

Dad has a point, and I'm glad I got us up early for that hike, because otherwise Noah would be the person I've spent the least time with today. After impatiently waiting for both of us to be free at the same time, I finally just apologize to my uncle and grab Noah.

"Everything okay?" Noah sounds concerned as I pull him into the hallway.

"Everything is peachy, except I haven't gotten to talk to you at all since we got here. _And_ I've barely had a chance to eat."

Noah relaxes at that, giving me a rueful smile. "I think that's just how weddings work. Kyle complained about the same thing."

"Kyle?"

"Kyle and Emma. The wedding in New York."

"Oh, right. That feels like forever ago."

"It was two weeks ago, Shelly," Noah laughs.

"I guess. It just feels a lot longer. I mean, that was before we were even engaged."

Now he's really laughing. "Yes, before our extremely long engagement. Back in the very faraway time _fourteen days ago_ when I patiently and repeatedly explained to all my friends that you and I were in no rush to get married."

I can't help blushing. "Sorry about that. But I bet they'll enjoy getting that announcement tomorrow."

We haven't told any of our friends yet, other than Mickey and Adam, and I'm looking forward to posting a picture tomorrow and letting our rings speak for themselves.

"So, are we doing this again next year? With fancier outfits and all of our friends?" Noah asks.

I shake my head. "We should definitely throw a big party sometime. But I don't need another wedding. This one was perfect."

I'd only intended a quick kiss when I stretched up to meet Noah's lips, but he seems in no hurry to break it off.

"We could ditch," Noah suggests when he finally pulls away. "There's a pizza shop next door. We could slip out, go eat without anyone trying to talk to us, and then come back. Or not come back..."

"I'm pretty sure our absence would be noticed. And I'm not leaving until I've had cake."

"We grab the cake, then we disappear."

"Nope."

"We tell everyone you're in labor. Then, later, we say it was a false alarm."

"They'll be suspicious why we're taking the cake with us, in that case. Is my uncle really that terrible to talk to?"

"He has many opinions. Opinions he is eager to share but much less eager for me to disagree with."

Noah's being tactful. Uncle Frank is, well, kind of a curmudgeon.

"So I'll go talk to him instead. But I warn you, Grandma Melanie is looking for you. She didn't like it when I laughed hysterically in response to when we're having another, so you're next on her list to badger."

"I appreciate the warning. I also appreciate her belief that I could ever change your mind on anything."

I try to flick Noah's hand, but he anticipates my move and captures mine instead, pulling me back in for another lingering kiss.

"I don't think you'd actually need to change my mind, you know." I mumble as we eventually pull away.

"About?" Noah sounds distracted.

"If you wanted to have another, someday. I didn't laugh at Grandma Mel because I never want to. I just... don't like other people pressuring us."

We haven't actually talked about this, and maybe we should have. Then again, I'd want to be with Noah regardless—and, based on the grin he's giving me, I don't think we disagree anyway.

"How about we have this one first, and decide on the next one... much, much later?"

"Yeah." I smile back.

"So for today, I'll just try to be more diplomatic than you about telling your grandma to back off."

"Probably wise. Okay, ready to go back in?"

"You're sure we can't ditch and go get pizza?"

"Very sure."

* * *

I really can't imagine how people survive big weddings; even with our tiny crowd I'm sick of smiling and talking even before the cake shows up. Which is weird, because I Iove parties and I love talking, but today has been uniquely draining. June insists on taking endless pictures of us cutting the cake, and after that and another round of toasts I decide I need to get off my feet again. Mickey and Adam are deep in conversation about something that must be hilarious, given their laughter, and I drop into an empty chair beside them.

"Ignore me," I tell them. "I need to not talk or smile or pretend to be interested in anyone's baby advice for the next, I don't know, probably three months. But I'll settle for ten minutes of hiding out here and letting you two do all the talking."

"You look exhausted. Have you eaten?" Mickey eyes me suspiciously.

"A little. But people keep interrupting when I'm trying to eat, and my stomach's been weird all day anyway. This is my second slice of cake, though. Can you believe June made this?"

"Can I believe June made a cake? For you, her favorite child, and for the wedding she's been looking forward to forever? Yeah, I can believe it." Mickey dryly answers.

"See, that's where you're wrong. _This_ is carrot cake," I point out, waving my cake-laden fork at Mickey, "which means June made it for Noah, not for me, which proves _he_ 's the favorite."

"I love how I'm never even mentioned in these arguments about who Mom's favorite is," Lee comments, walking up just in time to overhear. "And also, once again—do I need to point out how weird it is that you just married your competition for favorite child?"

"No, you don't. But you will anyway, and I'll forgive you, because that's what _sisters_ do." Lee absolutely hates it when I use the _s_ word, so I smile sweetly at him as I say it.

" _Gross_."

"Lee, I married your brother. That makes me your sister in law. That's just... how it works."

"Nope. Both of you spent years telling me you're not our sister, you can't flip now."

"I wasn't your sister _then_. And I'm still not _his_ sister. But marrying Noah makes me _your_ sister."

"Nope. Too weird."

"You two are adorable, and this argument definitely never gets old." Mickey sighs.

"Look, I don't care who the favorite is or how incestuous this is, I'm just relieved today's cake isn't funfetti. I practically got a cavity just from baking that monstrosity." Adam interjects.

"Oh, shut up. Funfetti is only for birthdays. Didn't Noah explain that? And it was very sweet of you to make me a cake."

"To be honest, I thought Noah was planning to propose that weekend, and I wanted to up his chances." Adam admits with a smile.

"Too bad you were a week early," Lee laughs, just as Mickey snorts "It would taken more than cake to get Elle's head out of her ass."

" _Enough_.New rule: no mocking the bride on her wedding day."

Mickey and Adam only just met this week, but it took them about three minutes to bond over their shared interest in tormenting me and Noah.

"Alright, I'm going to go rescue Noah. It looks like my grandmother is lecturing him again."

My back is throbbing, and I wince as I stand up, kneading at my lower back with my knuckles.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Mickey asks curiously.

"It's these heels, and all the standing."

Mickey looks unconvinced, and she follows me away from the table. "Look, I hate to ask but —"

I roll my eyes. "No, Mickey, I am not in labor." I swear Mickey's asked if I'm in labor every time I've so much as frowned in the past month.

"You're sure? Because you keep wincing and you were just complaining about feeling weird."

"My back hurts because my shoes are foolish and my stomach is acting up because today is weird and stressful."

Mickey just stares back at me, one eyebrow raised.

"Mickey, I am not in labor. I would know if I were in labor."

"Do I need to remind you about the _I would know if I were pregnant_ conversation?" She whispers pointedly.

"That was—completely different." I sputter in annoyance.

"If you say so." Mickey's skeptical look says otherwise.

"Look, Mickey, I swear I'm not being an idiot. I feel fine, I'm just tired. Not a single contraction, I promise. I'll stay off my feet for the rest of the reception and I won't wear heels ever again. But I am seriously not in labor. And if at any point I feel a contraction, I will tell you. Well, not you. I'll tell Noah. And probably June. But I promise I will tell _someone_."

Mickey raises her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine, I'm dropping it. You just had me worried for a second there. I'm done nagging, I promise."

"Liar. Bossing people around is your favorite hobby." I laugh.

"Well, yeah." Mickey smiles back.

I grab Mickey for a long hug. "Thank you. For all the nagging and all the bossing around, but also all the times you listened and just let me figure myself out. And for never once saying _I told you so_ about anything, even though you always did."

"Eh, I knew you knew I'd told you so, I didn't need to rub it in." Mickey laughs.

"Alright, go back to trading mortifying stories about me with Lee and Adam. The cake is practically gone, and I'm pretty sure that means I can escape soon."

* * *

There's just one more person I want to talk to before grabbing Noah and disappearing, and I find her standing by the dessert table, discussing something with one of the waiters. I don't think I've seen June sit down at any point today, but she lets me pull her aside to one of the banquettes.

"Thank you. For today, for all of this. There's no way we could've done this on our own."

"It was my pleasure. And besides, you know I promised your mom." June pauses, then laughs. "Well, I promised I'd _offer_ to help you plan your wedding. Even back then there was no getting you to accept help you didn't want."

I smile sheepishly. "Dad said she'd have loved this. That she hated how big their wedding was."

"She did. She called me almost every day the month leading up to the wedding, swearing she was calling the whole thing off and eloping to Maui, and then I'd talk her back off the ledge. Your mother was never a fan of big crowds and fuss."

"I know. Every year she suggested we go on a trip for my birthday instead of having a party."

"And then every year you and Lee would sweet-talk _me_ into your latest crazy party idea."

"Yeah. But Mom loved your parties. She just didn't want to plan them." I smile.

"Are you and Noah still thinking you'll have another reception next year, with all your friends and the rest of the family? Because you know I'm always up for more party planning."

"Maybe," I shrug. "We were actually talking about that, earlier. It seems silly to have a second wedding. I mean, we're married now, and today was perfect. But maybe we'll go all out for Dinah's first birthday, and invite everyone then."

"That'll basically be your first anniversary, anyway. We can celebrate both milestones."

"God, I hope so. Everyone keeps telling me that first babies are always late, but I'm not sure I can take another three or even four weeks of this. There's just... no room left for my lungs or my stomach or my bladder."

"I remember those last weeks," June laughs sympathetically. "I was so ready to be done and nothing fit, not even my shoes. I'm amazed you can still wear those."

June tips her head at my heels. My very cute, very ill-advised heels. My feet may not have swollen, but I'd be better off if they had and I'd had to pick a more sensible pair of shoes.

"I shouldn't have, though," I ruefully admit. "They fit, but they've been making my back seize up all afternoon."

Mickey's comments are still nagging at me, and I debate saying something to June. Now that Mickey's put the idea in my head, I can't help second-guessing every twinge and feeling I've felt all day. But it's still a ridiculous thought. I haven't felt a single real contraction, just the same painless Braxton-Hicks tightening I've had on and off all week, and everyone delights in telling me how much worse the real thing is. My lower back is killing me, but that's my shoes. And sure, I've been queasy and barely hungry all day, but that's not new either, given Dinah's invasion of all the space previously dedicated to my stomach and other fairly important organs. So it's nothing, and there's no need to worry June over nothing.

"You need to get off your feet," June informs me as I dither over whether to say anything. "You do realize no one is going to leave before you guys do, right? We've all had our cake, you've talked to everyone, now go get Noah and go home."

June's right. I just need to get out of here, take off these stupid shoes, and take a long hot bath in that giant tub the hotel promised. Preferably with company.

* * *

"We're staying at the Grand, right?" Noah confirms as we wait outside the restaurant for the valet to bring his car around.

I'm digging through my purse, trying to find my sunglasses, and between juggling my phone and the flowers June insisted we take with us, I manage to drop my wallet from my purse. I grab at my wallet and actually catch it, except now it's my phone that I can't hold onto, and it falls to the ground with an ominous thud. Swearing, I crouch down to retrieve it and am relieved to find its screen intact. Except, as I awkwardly haul myself back upright and my back seizes up yet again, I realize something did break.

"You okay there, butterfingers?" Noah laughs, holding a hand out to help me up.

I'm too stunned to answer, and I just stare blankly at Noah.

"Elle?"

"We're not going to the Grand." I finally say.

Noah looks confused, and starts scrolling through his phone. "Are you sure? I could have sworn that was the hotel we ended up picking. Because it had the rooftop pool —"

Noah trails off as I grab his arm, and he looks up from his phone at me.

"We're not going to the hotel, we're going to the hospital. I'm pretty sure my water just broke."


	59. Long Awaited

**_(Noah)_**

"Damn it!"

Elle's digging through her purse when her wallet falls out. I'm impressed that she manages to catch it mid-air, but can't help but laugh when she then drops her cell phone in the process.

"You okay there, butterfingers?" I ask as she stares at her phone after picking it up. Its screen looks fine, but Elle doesn't respond.

"Elle?"

"We're not going to the Grand," she tells me as I help her up.

"Are you sure? I could have sworn that was the hotel we ended up picking. Because it had the rooftop pool —"

I'm trying to find the confirmation email, but Elle interrupts me.

"We're not going to the hotel, we're going to the hospital. I'm pretty sure my water just broke."

" _What?_ "

Elle looks impossibly calm as she replies, and it's like she's talking to herself more so than to me. "My water broke. My water broke because I'm in labor. I'm an _idiot_."

"You're in labor? You're not—messing with me? You're actually in labor?"

"Mickey is never going to let me live this down. She is actually finally going to say _I told you so_. Oh, my god, I am such an idiot. I should have known that Mickey's always right." Elle keeps muttering to herself as if she hasn't heard me, and I squeeze her shoulder to get her attention. I kind of need her to stop talking about Mickey and tell me what's going on.

"Elle, back up a second. You're in labor? Like, just now?"

Elle finally looks at me, her expression still strangely calm. "No, not just now. I mean, my water broke just now. But it's possible I've been in labor all day."

"You've been in labor _all day_? And you're telling me this _now_?"

"Well, I didn't realize it until now," Elle matter-of-factly explains. "But now that I think about it... yeah, probably."

The disconnect between what Elle's saying and how composed she's acting is bewildering. There's a tall stone planter between the sidewalk and the curb, and I'm glad it's there because I really need somewhere to sit down right now.

"Okay. Start from the beginning and tell me what the hell is going on."

Elle is looking down at me now that I'm sitting, her hands at my shoulders, and her expression is an odd mix of confusion and determination.

"I didn't _think_ I was in labor. I mean, it didn't feel like labor. It still doesn't. Well, I guess I don't actually know what being labor feels like. Maybe this _isn't_ it, I'm not sure. Except I _am_ sure my water just broke. And my back's been hurting all day, which I thought was from these stupid shoes, but now that I think about it... it's been coming and going, and it keeps getting worse even though I've been sitting most of the last hour. So maybe I was just really wrong about what labor feels like."

"You're not _sure_?" I'm trying to keep my voice normal, but _seriously_?

"Exactly how many times do you think I've been in labor before today? _Zero_. I'm not sure how you think I'm supposed to know these things."

She has a point, but—it also seems like this should be one of those obvious things. But, I guess I've got even less experience to go off than she does, and this really isn't the time to argue.

I massage at my temples. "Okay. So. You _think_ you're in labor, and you're sure your water has broken."

"That part's hard to mistake."

"So... do we go to the hospital now?" My brain has inconveniently chosen this moment to go blank on everything I've read or been told about birth.

Elle pauses, then slowly nods. "Yeah, I think. The nurse at the childbirth class said not to come in too early, but... I have no idea if this is early or late. And I'm not feeling super confident about my instincts on any of this right now. So probably we should. Go to the hospital, I mean."

I'm not about to second guess her on this. Besides, our apartment and the hospital are in opposite directions, so if we go home first and then decide we need to go in, it'll be an even longer drive. Hospital it is.

"Should we tell anyone? Our parents?"

Elle thinks about it before answering. "Not yet. Once we're sure." She flinches then, her hands clenching painfully at my shoulders before slowly relaxing. "That... felt different. And not in a good way."

I see the valet finally returning with my car, and I pull Elle closer before standing up. "You really didn't need to make today more memorable, you know."

* * *

I relax slightly once we're driving. Traffic isn't too heavy, and Elle seems more like herself, no longer in that weirdly detached state. I'm about to ask her to look up where we're supposed to park at the hospital when she suddenly makes an odd sound and doubles over in her seat. I panic briefly before realizing she's _laughing_. Hysterically so, but definitely laughing and not crying.

"Elle? Everything okay?"

I put a hand on her knee, and that seems to help snap her out of it.

"I'm such a cliché. You realize that, right? I mean, look at us," Elle waves a hand between us as she slowly sits up again, still laughing.

"Because you didn't realize you were in labor?"

"No. I mean, maybe that too. But all the rest of it. I freak out on you because I can't deal with anything long-term, except whoops, I'm totally pregnant. I can't figure out how to tell you, so you conveniently show up. I don't want us to get married just because we're having a baby, except then I _do_ want us to get married because, well, I want to, and I make us rush and do it before the baby shows up, except then I go into labor _at our wedding_ , and now we're racing to the hospital. In our wedding clothes. It's just... it's a really cheesy sitcom. All of it," Elle concludes.

"I guess. We do have great timing, don't we?"

"Starting with you managing to show up right when my birth control decided not to work—that's another bad movie trope right there." Elle snorts.

I was thinking starting with Elle deciding to staff the kissing booth just when I gave in and showed up, but we don't need to rehash our entire history right now.

"So what's next on the cliché list? Just so I know what to expect."

"If this were a sitcom? Probably me yelling about how much I hate you, you fainting, surprise twins, maybe some kind of terrifying medical thing that instantly resolves after the commercial break. If we hadn't gotten married already, you would definitely propose. Oh, and if this were a Hallmark Christmas movie, a blizzard would strand us on the freeway and I'd have the baby in the car and the kindly bearded paramedic who comes to our rescue would turn out to be named Kris Kringle. But it's LA in July, so probably not that part."

I look over at her with raised eyebrows. "Probably not _that_ part, but you're not ruling out the rest of those?"

"Surprise twins are a definite no. I've had a million ultrasounds, Dr. Kim's not an idiot, and besides, I may be huge right now but I'm not _twins_ huge. I probably _will_ yell at you, so I apologize in advance. You fainting is up to you. And I don't want to jinx us by saying no scary emergencies, but hopefully not."

I'd rather not think about that possibility right now, so I'm going to focus on Elle's more entertaining predictions. "I can deal with you yelling at me. Try not to punch me, though."

"No promises." Elle winces as she says it, and this time when she doubles over it's not because she's laughing. "Yeah, definitely no promises about the punching. That contraction sucked."

"Aren't we supposed to be timing those?"

"Probably. I've been distracted. How long have we been driving?"

I check the GPS. "Six minutes."

"So, about that long. I think that means we've got time."

"You _think_?"

"Once again, how many times do you think I've done this? And _you_ clearly have even less of a clue. Just... get us to the hospital where the people with a clue are."

Elle's rising crankiness is probably also an indicator we should be tracking, but I'm going to shut up about that one.

"Do you have any sour candy?" Elle suddenly asks after rifling through her purse. "I finished all the ones in my purse and I really really want some."

Elle's gone through three large bags of sour gummies this week. I don't question these things anymore, but I also didn't have the forethought to stash any in my car, so I shake my head. "Sorry."

"I see a drugstore ahead of us. We could stop and you could run in?"

I assume she's kidding until I see the hopeful look on her face.

"Elle, exactly how badly do you want that candy? Delay getting to the hospital and potentially give birth in a drugstore parking lot badly?"

I swear she actually _thinks_ about it before answering.

"Fine. I can live without the candy. Notbecause I think stopping for five minutes would be a problem—you're being a total drama queen. But the hospital has the pain meds and I want those more than the candy."

"Any other insane last-minute errands, or can I just get us to the hospital?"

"The odds of me punching you are getting higher."

"Just try not to do it while I'm driving."

"Fine." She's trying to sound mad, but her smile betrays her.

Elle's quiet after that, cranking the music up before leaning her seat back and closing her eyes. She doesn't look like she's in pain, so for a minute it feels like a normal drive. Except it's really not. The next time we get in this car, it'll be with a third passenger. Well, the next time Elle gets in this car. I'm going to have to go home first for all those things it didn't occur to me to throw in the car today. Like the infant car seat. And I'm guessing the clothes we packed to stay at the Grand for two nights aren't what we'll want now. But all that's getting ahead of myself, because first we need to get to the hospital. Soon.

When the next contraction hits, it's again been six minutes. I've been searching my memory while Elle zoned out, and I'm pretty sure that five minutes is the frequency they told us to definitely head to the hospital after. So, we should be fine. Assuming Elle isn't withholding any other information.

"I've changed my mind about your car being comfortable. I hate this seat and I hate the stupid sporty suspension," Elle complains as she relaxes after the contraction.

"The GPS says we're ten minutes away, so hopefully only one more before we get there." And I'm pretty sure she'd hate any car right now, but sure, blame my car.

"I can't decide if I want this to hurry up or slow down." Elle sighs.

"I'd rather you not hurry up until we get to the hospital."

"Yeah, but I want this to be over sooner."

"She could end up sharing a birthday with our wedding," I point out, attempting to distract Elle.

"Good. Less chance you'll forget our anniversary." Elle mutters, her eyes closed as she tries to zone out until the next contraction.

"November seventh, November twenty-second, June sixth, August nineteenth, October twenty-fourth, March twenty-seventh, April second, June twentieth, July third." I remember the breakup dates, too, but they don't bear mentioning.

Elle looks like she's about to say something, then just smiles.

"You're very good at that."

"I accept your apology for suggesting I'd forget."

"Fine. I'm sorry for doubting you. We can keep celebrating all of our anniversaries, right?"

"Maybe. At some point Dinah will ask what all of those dates are."

"Good point," Elle laughs, and I'm glad the distraction is working. "We'll just keep some of those milestones to ourselves."

"Agreed."

* * *

 ** _(Elle)_**

Things get more boring after we get to the hospital and the initial adrenaline rush wears off. It's clear the doctors and nurses don't think I'm any kind of emergency. Sure, everyone agrees I'm in labor, but I've got a ways to go, it seems. Not so long that they're sending me home, but also not soon enough to inspire any kind of speed from the hospital staff. There's a pile of admission paperwork to be filled out, some waiting in the triage room, more than a few amused comments about our outfits, and finally I'm admitted and given a room. And then the waiting begins. The mostly boring, intermittently very painful, waiting.

I hadn't wanted to panic everyone before being sure what was going on, but now that medical professionals agree both that I'm in labor and that nothing's imminent, we call our parents and I send off texts to Lee and Mickey. Hers just says _go ahead and say you told me so_.

Lee is the first to show up, bringing with him leftover wedding cake. It's such a sweet gesture that I don't have the heart to tell him the thought of eating makes me want to puke. Lee's way too wound up, though, and after the second stupid argument he picks with Noah over absolutely nothing I tell him he's stressing me out and I kick him out. Lee's been there for me through a lot, but this milestone I'd rather he sit out.

Dad shows up next, with June and Matthew close behind, and I'm relieved when they all know better than to linger after checking on us and making us promise to call at any hour, no matter how late, with any news. I decided weeks ago that Noah is the only one I want with me when Dinah's born, and I definitely don't want our parents spending the night in the waiting room. I almost reconsider as June hugs me before leaving, but no. As comforting as her brief visit has been, this needs to be just our moment, mine and Noah's.

Mickey is our last visitor, and I'm grateful for the reason behind her delayed arrival: she's got our spare apartment key, which means she's the one I sent to grab the hospital bag I packed last week. I'm not a complete procrastinator—I _did_ have a bag ready, it just hadn't occurred to me to bring it along today. I'd say it's a lesson learned for next time, except holy shit, there is _never_ going to be a next time because who the hell is deranged enough to have a second kid after experiencing labor? The other reason I'm glad Mickey is our last visitor is that my mood and language are steadily worsening. The nurses keep swearing the anesthesiologist is on the way with my epidural, but I'm starting to think they're lying.

"And that's my cue to get out of here," Mickey announces after a particularly grumpy tirade of mine. "Elle, you're going to do awesome. Try not to throw anything at the nurses or at Noah, I promise they're on your side. Noah... good luck."

As soon as Mickey's gone I dig through my bag for the nightgown I'd packed. The nurses insisted on getting me into a hospital gown, but I can't wait to get it off. Hospital gowns are for being sick. They're for terrible, horrible reasons to be in a hospital. I've seen enough of them to last me forever, and I'd rather welcome Dinah naked than in one. For the sake of propriety, though, this battered old nightgown I won't mind throwing away when it gets gross seems more advisable. Noah's changing out of his suit, too, and it's like we're settling in for a really weird sleepover. A surreal sleepover in an incredibly ugly hotel. There's no mirror where I can see all the pins Mickey jabbed into my hair his morning, so I have to ask Noah for help.

"I've been wanting to do this all day, you know. I just hadn't pictured it like this." Noah comments as he slowly undoes Mickey's careful work.

"Oh yeah? How _did_ you picture it?"

Noah merely smirks at me.

"This is definitely the worst honeymoon ever," I sigh.

"Oh, come on. We could be on an island that gets hit by a hurricane. Or getting food poisoning on a cruise."

"Speak for yourself. I've had food poisoning, and this is worse."

The anesthesiologist _finally_ shows up, and while I'd gladly have skipped seeing the size of the needle that just went into my back, I'm also _really_ happy about it. Like, so happy I might have proposed to this guy if Noah hadn't been in the room. Life is suddenly great again, other than the unsettling inability to feel my legs.

Life is great, but I'm exhausted, and I find myself nodding off as I watch some weird game show on the hospital's limited TV lineup. It's blissfully bizarre, knowing that I'm having contractions but barely feeling them. Dr. Kim isn't on call tonight, but the OB covering for her thinks I've got several hours to go and encourages me to rest.

"Go have dinner," I tell Noah. "I'm falling asleep, and the cafeteria will probably close soon. Nothing's happening any time soon."

"Are you sure?" Noah looks skeptical.

"Totally sure. I need a nap, you need dinner, and it's going to be a long night. Go stretch your legs while you can."

"You'll call me if anything changes? You've got your phone within reach, right?"

"Phone right here, call button to alert team of medical professionals right there. I'll be fine, and I can't stay asleep with you fidgeting around the room. Give me, like, at least an hour."

"Man, I put up with all your complaining earlier, and as soon as you're in a good mood again you kick me out." Noah jokes.

" _Complaining_? Well, now I'm definitely not in a good mood. _OUT_." I mock glare. "But seriously, I want this nap. I _need_ this nap."

"Fine, fine, I'm going." Noah kisses my forehead and dims the lights on his way out. "Love you, Shelly."

"You too, jerk." I grin.

"I know that's just the drugs talking."

"Yeah, I'd be swearing a lot more without the drugs."

I turn the TV off, put some soothing music on my phone, and I'm asleep before getting to the third song in the playlist. Epidurals really are amazing.

* * *

Suddenly I'm jolted awake by an angrily beeping monitor. There's a nurse fussing with the monitoring belt around my belly, but Noah's not here and I have no idea how long it's been. I _feel_ fine, but the way the nurse is staring intently at the screens panics me.

"Is something wrong? Is the baby okay?"

"You're fine, honey, I didn't mean to spook you. You're just contracting a lot, and I wanted to make sure the monitors were still positioned right."

"But she's okay?"

"Her heart rate looks perfect, I promise. So it's a girl?"

I relax back against the pillows. "Yeah."

"Your first?"

I nod, feeling my own heart rate return to normal as the nurse keeps checking on me. I look at my phone, and it's only been thirty minutes since Noah left. No wonder I don't feel any less tired.

"Well, get ready to meet her, because she seems to be in a big hurry."

" _What?_ " I sit back up, gaping at the nurse. "No, the doctor said it would be hours."

"This baby says differently. I'm surprised you were sleeping through these contractions, even with the epidural."

"Oh god. I've got to call Noah. I made him go have dinner."

"Your husband?"

"No, we're not—shit, wait, yes, yes we are. Today. We got married _today_."

The nurse looks amused. "So, it's been a big day. You go ahead and tell him to get back in here, I'm going to call the OB and have her check you out."

I'm already calling, but it's going to voicemail. Not good. I send Noah a text, then try calling again. Still voicemail. Very not good. I send another text, but the first doesn't say _delivered_ yet. If Noah has chosen tonight to mess around with his phone, I swear I am going to kill him. But first I need to find him. I try calling a third time. This time I leave a message: _You need to get back here. Now._

"Dr. Brindle is handling a delivery, but she'll be here as soon as she can and I've got you until then. I'm Julia, by the way. Is your husband on his way back?"

I have now sent Noah five text messages and none of them have been delivered, let alone read.

"I can't get ahold of him. He must have his phone off. I'm going to kill him."

Julia pulls a stool up to the head of the bed to sit near me. "Do you know where he went?"

"I told him to go get dinner. And to leave me alone for an hour so I could sleep. But I didn't mean he should, like, _disappear_." I am trying very hard not to freak out.

"Oh, if he went to the cafeteria, that place is a dungeon. My phone never has reception."

Awesome. Great. Perfect. Fanfuckingtastic. I'm pretty sure I'm crying, and now Julia is squeezing my hand.

"Hey, hey, Elle, this is going to be okay. You're not delivering _right this minute_. We'll page him if he doesn't pick up soon."

"You can do that?"

"For important messages. Like telling wayward dads-to-be to get their butts back to the maternity ward." Julia smiles.

A contraction hits, and damn, I'm feeling these now. Not painfully like before, but it's hard not to notice your entire midsection being squeezed in a vice.

I try calling Noah again afterward. Still nothing. He's been gone forty minutes now. I told him to give me at least an hour to sleep. Of all the times for him to actually do what I ask...

Julia's been rubbing my back through the contraction as she watches the monitors.

"No luck?"

I shake my head. I'm trying very hard not to freak out.

"Okay. You sit right here, I'll call the security office and have them page the cafeteria. What's his last name?"

"Flynn. Noah Flynn." He's going to panic when he hears the page, but that's fair, because _I_ 'm panicking. "You're not leaving me, right? You can call from this room?"

"I'm staying right here, Elle."

Another contraction hits and I force myself to relax and breathe through it. I wasn't watching the clock but it can't have been much more than two minutes since the last one.

"Alright. Dad has been paged, and I'm also having them remind Dr. Brindle that things are speeding along in here."

Noah is AWOL, the OB is busy, and things are _speeding along_. Awesome. Everything is awesome.

The next eight minutes are an increasingly terrifying loop of contraction, attempt to call Noah, curse at his voicemail, listen to Julia telling me it's all going to be okay, repeat. Or maybe it's a million minutes. It definitely _feels_ like a million minutes. In between contractions I have attempted to tell Julia a very abbreviated, probably incomprehensible, version of the past seven years. I also think I offered to wager a thousand dollars over whether Noah or the OB will show up first. I don't think she took me up on it, but I'm not entirely sure.

Finally, the door swings open and... Dr. Brindle walks in. Damn it. I mean, I'm glad she's here, except she immediately proceeds to confirm that Dinah wants out. Soon. Very very _soon_.

It is really rather ironic that on the same single day I will have married Noah, had his baby, and then killed him. If he ever shows up so that I can do that.

I try calling again after the next contraction. There's no point, but it's tradition now. Except this time it rings. Hallefreakinglujah. And then it rings again. And on the third ring Noah picks up, and I'm about to start yelling when the door opens again and I realize I'm hearing Noah's breathless voice both over the phone and live. Blessedly, immediately live, right here in my room, and then even closer.

"You're here." My anger has been entirely replaced by pure relief, and I grab Noah as soon as he's within reach.

"I heard the page, and I tried to call you, and that's when I saw I had no reception. And holy shit, this place is a maze and I swear they've hidden the elevators, so I ended up taking the stairs, and that's when my phone notifications started to explode. I'm guessing all the missed calls and voicemails and messages are from you?" Noah's sitting on the edge of the bed now and I've got both arms wrapped around his neck, my head buried in the crook of his neck. He's here, and if he's here I can do this.

"Just... erase them. All of them. Where _were_ you?"

"The cafeteria, and then I went to find the vending machines, which turned out to be in an entirely different corner of the basement. And that's when I heard the page and saw my phone and started looking for the damn elevators."

"The _vending machines_? Why —" As much as I want to know why Noah picked tonight to start craving junk food, I've got more pressing concerns as the next contraction kicks up.

It gets crazy after that. I'm fairly certain that at no point do I punch Noah, but I definitely do some yelling of unfair blame and empty threats, and several times I see Noah wince while I'm squeezing his hand. Nobody faints, though, and we're spared any scary emergencies. And, oh yeah, no surprise twins. Just one very loud, very indignant, very perfect baby girl.

* * *

My room is quiet again after being a hive of activity in the hour following Dinah's birth, and we're slowly coming off our giddy endorphin highs. The OB has moved on to the next birth, promising Dr. Kim will be by tomorrow morning. A pediatrician has come and gone, confirming Dinah's perfection. I can feel my legs again now that my epidural is out, which I'm guessing means I'll also start feeling sore in all kinds of places soon, and I'm no longer starving now that I've demolished an entire bag of sour gummies. That's why Noah was wandering the basement looking for the vending machines: he'd decided to use the hour I'd asked for to find me sour candy. Various other doctors and nurses have floated through and left again, and now it's down to four of us, Julia and Noah and Dinah and me.

"Any progress on a name?" Julia asks.

I shake my head. We've tried a few out, but nothing sounds right; she's not a Dinah or a Penny or an Alex or any of the other names we'd thought might work. I joked that she has a definite Lee look to her, but Noah didn't appreciate that humor. So, for now she's just The Baby or Her, and sometimes still Dinah by force of habit.

"Give it time. And sleep on it—you're in no shape to be deciding anything."

Sleep is also what Dinah is up to, and on her way out of the room Julia tells us to seize the opportunity to rest while we can.

So, we do. Except, I can't sleep. I'm beyond exhausted, I've got a fresh nightgown on, my favorite pillow from home, and white noise on my headphones, but still I can't sleep. I'm too keyed up, the room is too unfamiliar, the hospital bed is too uncomfortable. I doubt Noah's any more comfortable on the too-small fold-out bed provided for partners, so I feel guilty about what I'm about to do... but it doesn't stop me gingerly sliding out of the hospital bed with my pillow and tucking myself into what little space is left next to Noah.

"Really?" Noah mutters, but I can feel the rumble of his quiet laughter.

"Yeah. It's lonely over there." This bed really is too tiny for one, let alone two, and I'm sore everywhere, but I'm more comfortable already.

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah." Noah's arm wraps around me and I'm home.


	60. Namesakes

**_(Noah)_**

I blink awake for at least the third time, blearily check my phone, and finally give up on staying asleep. I wasn't going to tell Elle no when she crawled into the hospital's visitor bed with me, but there just isn't room for both of us. _She_ 's sound asleep, though, and she's the one who most needs and has most earned the rest, so I'll settle for that.

Dinah is making soft snuffling sounds and I get up carefully, trying not to wake Elle, to go sit next to the bassinet. Dinah doesn't look unhappy, but she's definitely awake, and she's getting louder. When laying my hand over her doesn't settle her down, I scoop her up instead, trying to keep her bobblehead neck steady—she's impossibly tiny and terrifyingly floppy—and that seems to soothe her.

The pediatrician laughed and Elle glared at me when I called Dinah tiny—apparently, eight pounds is not, in fact, small for a baby, especially one showing up two weeks early—but it's not like I've held any other newborns. Jen's kids, my cousins, are probably the only babies I've spent more than a few minutes with, and I'm pretty sure I didn't attempt to hold them until they were much bigger and sturdier. I should have taken Adam up on that offer to borrow his newest nephew for a training run, although Adam's sister might not have loved that plan. Instead, here I am, learning as I go. I sit back in the visitor chair and lay Dinah on my lap, head near my knees, and she seems calmer that way than she had in the bassinet. Elle's been asleep two hours and I'm hoping I can let her sleep at least another hour.

Elle's jokes aside, Dinah looks nothing like Lee. I'm also not sure she looks anything like either of us. She just looks like... a very new baby. A beautiful one. A beautiful new baby currently blinking up at me with a suspicious expression that _does_ very much resemble her mother.

Dinah's wispy hair looks darker than either of ours, and the eyes currently staring skeptically at me are an inky blue the nurses say could shift to almost any shade in the next few months. The feature that has me most captivated, however, are her hands. It's hard to believe that the tiny fists she keeps trying to gnaw on are the same ones I've been playing tag with for months. She really does sleep just like Elle, though, just the way I'd seen on the ultrasound, her hands close by her face. I'd crow about that to Elle, but of course she's asleep, which is why I'm sitting here with the no-longer-asleep Dinah.

Dinah, who really needs a name soon. I'd hoped it'd be easy once she got here, that we would see her and the right name would spring to mind, but it hasn't. She's not actually a Dinah, that much we've decided, but that's as far as our progress has gone. I try a few more names, quietly, as we sit here. Alice. Emma. Lucy. Sophie. None seem to impress her, and I tend to agree with her. They're nice names, but they're not _her_ name. I try some of Elle's favorites next—including the crazy ones like Cassandra and Calliope—and those don't work either.

Finally I try addressing her as _Shelly_ , just to see how she reacts, and if I'd ever had reason to doubt this was Elle's kid, her tiny but nonetheless withering scowl would have convinced me. Not that I _could_ doubt that, having watched Elle power through her birth like some kind of fearsome Amazon warrior. I get why new dads feel the urge to buy their partners extravagant gifts, but I'm not sure there's actually anything out there equal to the awe and gratitude I'm feeling. At least right now I can do _this_ tiny thing for Elle, let her sleep and start to recover, while Dinah and I get to know each other.

Dinah's fussing gets louder again. If she's hungry I'm going to have to wake Elle, but maybe I can buy us some more time. I lift Dinah out of my lap and resettle her against my chest, and she seems to like that, but only briefly; once I'm still she starts fussing again. I bounce her lightly, and she's happy again, but only until I stop. So, constant motion it is. Maybe we'll go explore the maternity ward. Elle will flip if she wakes and we're gone, so I manage to scrawl _I've got her - back soon_ one-handed on a paper towel and tuck it next to Elle.

We slip out of the room and I start slowly walking the hallway, Dinah still cradled in one arm. Her fussing settles down and her eyes start to flutter shut, so maybe I really can buy Elle more sleep this way. It's eerily quiet—I see lights on in a few rooms, but the hallway is empty until I get to the nurses' station and a nurse grumpily informs me that I'm not supposed to take the baby out of the room unless she's in the rolling bassinet. Just as I'm wondering if I can go back and retrieve the bassinet without waking Elle, another nurse rescues me. I recognize her from earlier, and she must recognize me too, because she smiles conspiratorially.

"I was about to come by to check on the baby. Put her down in this bassinet, and we can go sit in the family lounge. Are you trying to let Elle sleep?"

I nod. "She desperately needs it, but Dinah was getting loud unless I kept moving."

"I heard you two had a big day yesterday. A wedding _and_ a baby?"

I laugh. "Yeah. I wasn't expecting that second part."

It seems impossible that less than a day has elapsed since I woke up to Elle announcing we were going on a hike, or that twelve hours ago we were hiding out in the hallway and joking about ditching our own wedding reception.

"So, you've named her Dinah?"

"Oh, no, that's just the fake name we were using before she was born. We're still stuck on a real name."

Now it's the nurse's turn to laugh. "I get two kinds of new parents here. The ones who've had a name picked out for months and have already personalized all the baby's stuff, and the ones who can't make up their minds until they absolutely have to for the birth certificate."

"That's where we're headed. But I'm thinking I'll just let Elle name her whatever she wants. You're the nurse who was there when I showed up last night, right?"

"I was. I got to hear a _lot_ about you."

"All about what kind of jerk goes missing during labor?"

The nurse laughs again. "There were a few threats made against your life, but they were very clearly empty. Besides, you should have seen the change in Elle when you finally showed up. She went from panicked to steady in an instant."

I spend a half hour or so talking to the nurse, whose name turns out to be Julia, while Dinah sleeps, and she fills me in on some of the details of the birth that got lost in the blur that last night felt like for me. Eventually Dinah wakes up, and this time no amount of holding and bouncing will satisfy her.

"That sounds like a hungry baby. Does Elle want to nurse her, or should I get you a bottle?" Julia asks.

"She wants to nurse her. I guess I'll have to wake her."

"Call me if Elle wants help. And tell her to send the baby to the nursery once she's done so she can get another bit of sleep. You, too. Have you slept at all?"

"Not really. I'll see if I can talk Elle into it."

It takes some debate, but when Dinah shows no interest in sleep after eating I manage to convince Elle that Dinah needs parents who've slept more than three hours. Which includes me, which isn't going to happen if Elle keeps stealing my bed, so this time I stretch out next to her in her bed until she's asleep, and then sneak away to mine. And then I pass out, hard. Because this has been a long, long day. The longest, and the best day.

* * *

The next time I wake up, the sun has risen and Elle is sitting up in her bed, trying to eat a yogurt one-handed while holding Dinah.

"Oh good, you're still alive. I was starting to wonder," Elle smirks at me.

A look at the clock tells me I slept almost five hours.

"God, I'm sorry. You should have woken me earlier."

"Are you kidding me? Julia told me you were walking the hallways last night so I could sleep. Besides, you're not the one Dinah wanted when the nurses sent her back from the nursery. But now she's all yours, so I can actually eat."

Dinah protests when I take her from Elle, but after a long suspicious glare she seems to remember she likes me.

"Do I get any of that breakfast tray?"

"Did you birth a giant baby yesterday and are you now responsible for feeding her?"

"That sounds like a no."

"See, those are the brains I married you for. But there are granola bars in that bag I packed, and you can go to the cafeteria once I'm done eating. I just really want both hands free for five minutes."

"The cafeteria of no cellphone reception? Sounds too risky. But I saw a coffee cart in the lobby, that'll do."

Holding Dinah is starting to feel less strange, and we go look out the window while Elle demolishes her breakfast tray.

"So, I had a name idea." Elle comments between bites.

"Really? A new one?" I brace myself for Elle's latest multisyllabic whim.

"Julia."

I turn back to Elle, surprised. "You want to name her for that nurse?" Apparently Elle's even more grateful than I thought.

"Not really _for_ her. But I like the name, and the more I think about it, the more it works. She'd have her own name, but she'd share an initial with my mom, and yours. And it sounds like July, which is her birthday _and_ kind of like June Junior in a weird way. Plus, I was hoping Julia might be short enough for you without being totally boring. See?"

It does make a strange amount of sense when Elle puts it that way. I look down at the baby in my arms, and try to imagine her as a Julia.

"What do you think? Does Julia sound good to you?"

Maybe-Julia blinks and yawns.

"I already asked her. She was cool with it." Elle informs me.

I'm still rolling the name around in my head. Maybe it's because we've been calling her Dinah so long, but the ending sounds right. _Julia Flynn_ sounds good, too. And, unlike most of Elle's favorite names, she'll have a fighting chance at learning to spell her own name before the second grade and at not having it mangled by everyone else.

I go sit on the edge of Elle's bed, Probably-Julia now dozing in my arms.

"I like it." I finally conclude.

"Julia." If I hadn't been convinced yet, seeing Elle beam as she says it would have done it.

"Yeah," I smile back. "Julia."

"We don't have to do the paperwork yet. We can try the name out today, and then see how we feel."

"Sure. But I'm pretty sure I'm sold."

"See, that wasn't so hard, after all. We just needed to meet her."

"I'm glad Julia was there last night. And even gladder her name isn't awful."

* * *

Mike and Brad are the first to show up. I'm not sure Mike even notices me in the room after setting eyes on Elle and Julia, and I take the opportunity to go grab breakfast. When I come back, Mike is holding Julia with a dazed adoring look and Elle is grossing Brad out with birth stories.

I sit down next to Mike, watching him watch Julia.

"She looks exactly like Elle as a baby," he comments, lightly tracing a finger over her cheek.

"You think?"

"Ask your mom when she gets here, you'll see. Has she let you sleep at all?"

"A little. She's not fond of being put down."

"As I said... exactly like Elle as a baby." Mike laughs.

Grown-up Elle doesn't like falling asleep alone either, but that doesn't seem like the wisest response, even with these wedding rings.

Mom and Dad walk in then, and Mom's reaction rivals Mike's. That's no surprise, but it's my dad's damp eyes that catch me off-guard, and I'm even more surprised when he pulls me into a tight hug. We've been getting along, lately. He's backed off on the nagging, and I've gotten better at just ignoring him when he does start opining. Besides, regardless of how he feels about me, it's clear Julia has instantly charmed him.

Mom is sitting on Elle's bed with Julia in one arm and the other around Elle, and they're doing their quiet whispering thing. They both look equally overcome, and I can tell they're talking about Joni. It's not fair, Joni missing this, and I wonder if this is one of the occasions she wrote Elle a letter for. Elle hasn't yet read the letter Mike gave her before the wedding; she's saving it for a calmer time, she says.

Our parents all love Julia's name, but from the looks in their eyes when they hold her, we could have named her Pumpkin and they'd still be thrilled. My dad has her now, with my mom hovering over them, and they're debating with Mike whether Elle or Lee was the worse sleeper as an infant. For the record, I've been told I was the easy baby; it was years later that I started causing my parents to lose sleep. I guess I can hope that Julia's planning the reverse.

Brad finally gets his turn to hold Julia, and he looks surprisingly at ease, bouncing her in one arm and making faces at her. It's a good thing I'm watching him, though, because he's about to post a selfie with her when I grab his phone.

"Slow down. We haven't even told _our_ friends yet."

"I wasn't going to post it. I just wanted to send the picture to one friend."

Brad blushes as he says it. Interesting.

"Anyone in particular?" I ask innocently.

"My friend Nina, she has a baby sister. She let me hang out while she babysat a couple times. You know, so I could practice being an uncle."

So, turns out Brad is more qualified to take care of a baby than I am. Great. Also, given the way he just smiled, he absolutely has a crush on this girl.

"Nina, huh?"

Brad's blush intensifies. Elle will kill me if I don't get more details. Then again, maybe I owe Brad some kind of brotherly confidentiality now. I guess I'll sort out what to do with the details after I've gotten them.

"She's just, you know, my friend. From school. Hey, if you guys wanted a babysitter sometime, she babysits all the time, not just for her sister."

I pretend to think about it. "I don't know that we could leave Julia with someone we've never met."

"I could come by with her! She wants to meet the baby. That way you could, like, interview her."

Convince Brad to introduce us to his crush? Check. That should win me points with Elle.

"Maybe if _you_ babysat with Nina. So we wouldn't be leaving Julia alone with a totally new person."

Brad's eyes light up. "Yeah, I could do that!"

Provide Brad with an excuse to spend time alone with his crush without having to actually ask her out? Check. That one, I'm not so sure Elle will like, but I won't tell her it was my idea.

"How about this—give me and Elle a day to announce the news, and tomorrow you can send Nina that picture."

Speaking of uncles who need all the romantic assistance they can get, Lee is the last to join the party, and he shows up with his hands full.

"I got everything you asked for. One box of donut holes, an everything bagel with lox and cream cheese, an egg sandwich, a cheese pizza, and two extra-large coffees. Sorry, that was the best they could do when I told them you specifically requested _the biggest cups of coffee in the entire world_." Lee announces, trying to find room for all the bags and handing me one of the coffees.

"A pizza? Really?" I ask Elle.

"I was... really hungry this morning before you woke up. I sent Lee a few suggestions."

"She means she sent me a series of all-caps demands with about a hundred exclamation marks," Lee comments as Elle hugs him tightly. "I believe the pizza request was repeated three times. Now, hand over my niece. Does she look like me? I bet she looks like me. Wait, does she have a name yet? Can _I_ name her, if you're still stumped?"

Brad hands me Julia, and I bring her over to Lee.

"This is Julia, and you're not holding her until you sit down."

I've seen Lee attempt to carry a football, and it wasn't pretty, not to mention that he appears to have chugged his own extra-large coffee on the way over here.

Lee stares at me, then at Elle, before letting himself drop into the chair by her bed.

"Really?"

"Really what?" I ask, putting Julia in his lap.

Lee's no longer listening to me, he's just staring at Julia. She has that effect on people.

"You guys had a _baby_ ," he finally says.

"Were you not clear that's what was going to happen?" Elle laughs, but I don't think Lee is listening to her, either.

"I can't believe you had a baby. And I can't believe you named her for me."

" _Julia_. We named her Julia."

"I know. I love it. Thank you."

Elle and I stare at each other in confusion. Maybe we shouldn't be trusting Lee to hold her.

"Lee, we didn't name her after you."

"But you named her Julia." Lee repeats, slowly.

"Yes." I repeat equally slowly, wondering what the hell is up with him.

"That's just, like, Lee with extra sounds. I mean, it's right there in the middle of her name. _Julia_. Ju-lee-a."

Now it's my turn to need to sit down, and I perch on the edge of Elle's bed. She looks as bewildered as I feel.

"Holy shit. He's right." Elle finally tells me.

"Is that _not_ why you named her Julia?" Lee looks confused.

"The resemblance literally did not occur to me until now," Elle admits.

"And if it had..." I can't help adding. "Elle, seriously, how did we not notice?"

"Because they're totally different names! Lee, don't be offended, but it never crossed my mind. My nurse yesterday was named Julia. And, I figured a J name would be nice—for our moms. But mostly we just liked how it sounded."

"Right. You liked it, because it sounded so familiar. Because it's got Lee in it. See, I knew I'd convince you."

"We haven't filled out the paperwork," I remind Elle, ignoring Lee. "It's not too late to change our minds."

"Yes, it is. She's Julia." Elle gives me a long look.

And yeah, Elle's right. She's Julia, and I'm not about to change her name just to spite Lee, no matter what delusions he's operating under about how she came to be named that. And I guess if we _were_ going to name her after Lee, this would be one of the less terrible ways to do it.

"I mean, if you think it's too subtle, you could add Lee as a middle name, too. _Julia Lee Flynn_ really rolls off the tongue."

"Quit while you're ahead, Lee."


	61. Home

_**A/N: I uploaded chapters 42-61 tonight - if you're like me and you go directly to the last chapter when you see a story has updated, you're going to want to jump alllll the way back. See, I promised I'd be back! This story is now complete, with an epilogue to come soon.**_

* * *

 ** _(Elle)_**

I wake to the sounds of distant rumbling and crashing, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am. My hands automatically reach down to cradle my belly, as they've done every time I've awoken these past few months, and I have to remind myself that she's not there anymore, flipping and kicking at me, because she's _here_ , with us. But not in the bassinet by my bed, though, a discovery that brings on a flash of panic before I look to the other side of the room and see Noah standing by the window. He's got Julia cradled in one arm and he's softly speaking words I can't quite make out.

I take a minute just to watch the two of them, Noah and Julia. Much of today has felt like an out of body experience, like I'm watching somebody else's life, like I can't believe that's _our_ baby Noah is holding. Hell, sometimes I still have a hard time believing _Noah_ is here, that we're actually together after everything, despite everything. At other times, though, it's exactly the opposite: I forget that we ever weren't this way. That there was ever a time before Julia, let alone a time without Noah.

Noah. All day I've been watching him fall in love with Julia, and falling in love with him in a whole new way. I'm sure the postpartum hormones are partly to blame for the dozen times I've burst into tears today, but so is the overwhelming awe of seeing the two of them together. The pure joy of seeing the way he holds her, looks at her, smiles at her.

I dreamed of a moment like this, last winter. The three of us, and that smile of Noah's no one else gets to see. But that vision was the least frequent of the dreams that haunted my nights back then. The longer I put off dealing with the reality of my pregnancy, the more relentless the dreams became. Dreams about telling Noah, about Noah finding out somehow, about every possible reaction he might have. Dreams where I went looking for Noah and he was nowhere to be found. And then, just a few times, dreams about the three of us, Noah and me and a baby whose face or name the dream never revealed. Dreams where we'd somehow made it through and ended up happy. In some ways, those dreams were the most painful, because I'd have to wake up and realize reality hadn't changed. That I still hadn't managed to tell Noah, still didn't know how, still felt trapped and terrified. Already knowing what I wanted, but still too afraid to let myself hope it was possible.

And now we're here. It's nothing like any of the dreams, and better than all of them.

I take another minute to quietly absorb this moment, and then I ease myself out of bed.

"What are you two doing over here?" I ask, padding over to the window.

"She wanted to see the show," Noah answers, his free arm wrapping around me.

The distant popping and crackling I've been hearing since waking make sense once I follow Noah's gaze out the window: fireworks. Between the wedding and Julia's arrival, I'd forgotten there are other celebrations going on this weekend.

" _She_ wanted to? Julia told you this?" I tease Noah.

"You laugh, but she kept fussing until we got to the window, and now she gets mad if I turn away."

"You realize she can't focus on anything more than maybe ten inches away from her face, right?"

"Maybe regular babies can't, but she's very advanced."

Noah keeps his expression so sincere that I'm a little concerned he actually believes that.

"How long have the fireworks been going?" I have no idea what time it is or how long this most recent nap lasted. Definitely not long enough, though.

"Only a few minutes. You should sit. You're not supposed to overdo it."

The visitor bed below the window is currently folded into its couch configuration, but I'm happy where I am.

"I've been in bed most of the day. Standing feels good."

Noah just shakes his head and hands me Julia. "Fine. _I_ 've been walking and bouncing your unsurprisingly bossy daughter for the past hour so you could sleep, so _I_ 'm going to sit."

The couch suddenly looks a lot more appealing, and I try not to jostle Julia as I sit down next to Noah and lean back against him to keep watching the fireworks over his shoulder. Noah's arms wrap around me, and for a minute we just enjoy the fireworks.

I suddenly notice Noah's smirk. "Did you sit down just so I'd sit down too?" I realize.

Noah says nothing, but his soft laugh tells me all I need to know.

"The nurses think we might be discharged tomorrow afternoon," I comment, yawning a little.

"Ready to go home?"

"I don't know. It seems crazy, that they're just going to send us home with her. As if we had any idea what we're doing."

"We're doing okay so far," Noah points out.

"Yeah, with supervision. I mean, you can't get a driver's license without taking a class and passing a test. But sure, go ahead and take this brand new helpless human home and raise them."

"Are you actually worried?" Noah's arms tighten around me as he says it.

"No. And also yes. I know we _can_ , but it's a little overwhelming."

"Sounds about right."

"Are _you_ not worried?" I love Noah's steadiness, crave it, but sometimes I worry it's an act he puts on for me at his expense.

"I've been terrified since March," he admits with a half-smile. "But in a good way. Mostly."

"Yeah." Maybe it shouldn't make sense, but it does.

The fireworks keep crackling in the distance as I close my eyes and lean further into Noah's warmth, tucking myself into that familiar spot below his chin.

"I was debating whether to wake you, once I saw the fireworks starting," Noah comments after another minute. "But you looked like you needed the sleep."

"I did. I still do. But I'm glad I woke up anyway."

The show must be close to ending now, as the explosions are coming in rapid clusters, and I open my eyes to enjoy the last of them.

"Where did you watch the fireworks from, last year?" Noah asks, yawning.

"I didn't. Brad wanted to go to a concert with his friends, and Dad asked me to chaperone."

"Babysitting thirteen year olds... sounds awesome."

I laugh. "I guess you'd know, now. I still can't believe there were parents out there trusting the likes of you and Adam to supervise their teenagers."

"Hey, you can't properly keep teens out of trouble if you don't have experience in all the best ways to cause trouble."

I try to glare at Noah, but I just can't. "I guess. Brad and his friends aren't much trouble yet, though. Just loud and annoying. And with terrible taste in music."

"I can't believe you sacrificed fireworks for Brad. You always insisted we stake out the best viewing spot first thing in the morning and then camp out there all day."

Noah's laughing, probably remembering some of those sweltering summer days spent waiting for the fireworks, and I'm not sure whether to correct him.

"It wasn't for Brad," I admit. "I mean, he did really want to go to that concert, and Dad wasn't going to let him go on his own. But I hadn't been planning on seeing the fireworks anyway."

I think Noah can tell there's more to the story, and he waits while I debate my next words.

"I haven't been since Boston," I finally add.

We'd snuck onto the roof of my dorm to watch Boston's fireworks, that last summer together. It wasn't the best view, but it's my favorite fireworks memory anyway.

We're both quiet after that, watching the smoke from the last fireworks waft and dissipate in the distance.

"I haven't either," Noah eventually admits.

The lump in my throat catches me off-guard, but I take a long breath and blink back the tears. I don't feel like dwelling on the last two years right now.

"Well, this one probably won't let us miss them ever again," I point out, shifting us back to lighter topics. "She's going to be so spoiled, getting fireworks right after all of her birthdays."

"You say that like _you_ wouldn't be dragging us down there anyway. You'll just have an extra excuse now."

"Keep complaining about it and I'll make _you_ chaperone Brad to whatever terrible concert he wants to see next summer, while Julia and I enjoy the fireworks."

"Brad's not going to require chaperoning much longer. Or even if he still needs it, he's not going to let us." Noah points out.

"Don't remind me," I sigh. "I'm pretty sure one of his friends was hitting on him at that concert. Ruby, I think her name was. It was disturbing to witness."

Noah looks far too amused. "And was Ruby... successful?"

"They both did a lot of blushing and awkward giggling. But I never heard about her again, so I guess not. I'm hoping that means I have some time before dealing with the idea of my baby brother dating."

"Maybe not as much time as you think."

" _What_?" Noah's chuckle has me staring him down suspiciously. "Please tell me Brad doesn't have a girlfriend. And please tell me he hasn't been going to _you_ for dating advice. You are not allowed to talk to Brad about girls. At all. Ever. But maybe I should ask Lee to talk to him."

"And yet you married _me_." He's not even bothering to pretend to look offended.

"Yeah, and I have terrible judgment. We've discussed this."

"Sounds like you'll never find out what Brad told me, then."

" _Tell me_." I glare at Noah.

"Nope."

"Ugh, fine. You're allowed to talk to Brad about girls, but you have to tell me what he tells you."

"Brotherly confidentiality, Elle."

"Seriously?"

Noah looks endearingly sincere. "A little seriously, yeah. But you can relax for now, I don't think he's figured out he has a crush on Nina."

"Wait—Nina from school? She's just his friend."

"For now." Noah's smirk has only grown wider. "But trust me on this. Anyway, Brad was telling me how much babysitting Nina does, so I told him to bring her over so we could meet her."

"Clever. And thank you. But I'm feeling really old now."

"The wedding ring and the baby didn't do the trick?" Noah laughs.

"Not the same way, no."

Noah may call Lee his baby brother to piss him off, but Brad actually _is_ my baby brother. It was bad enough when he got taller than me, but the idea of him dating is just weird. Yeah, I had crushes at fourteen. I'd even gladly have kissed some of them if they'd ever tried, or if I'd gotten up the courage. But Brad can't possibly be that old already.

Except he is. He'll be a freshman this fall, and if I'm being honest every time I've gone home this past year he's seemed a little bit older, taller, more mature than the previous week. I'm grateful Dad made me live on campus for my last year, because I did need that push back into the world, but I also really did miss seeing Brad every day.

"I'm glad I got the extra years at home with Brad. I mean, obviously not why it happened... or all the rest, but..." I trail off awkwardly as I realize how it sounds. It feels wrong to admit that anything good came out of that disaster.

But maybe Noah gets it, because he just holds me a little tighter and kisses the top of my head. "It's okay to find silver linings, Shell. I remember how much you missed him when you were in Boston. And you'd never have met Mickey if you'd stayed at BU."

"Yeah. And my advisor—she's been a better mentor than the lab I was in at BU."

"And I _know_ you didn't miss the Boston winters."

I have to smile at that one. "Definitely not."

Of course, I'd give up all those silver linings—even Mickey, even the time with Brad—in a heartbeat if it meant not almost losing Dad. And Noah.

But I also hate the idea of _silver linings_. These weren't package deals. Mickey and UCLA weren't consolation prizes the universe threw at me to apologize for letting a distracted driver slam into Dad's car. If that were how things worked, I'd be owed a mountain of silver linings for Mom, and I've yet to find one. And I wouldn't want the powerlessness of a world like that, anyway. We can't control everything that happens to us, but we can control what we do afterward. The time with Brad, the new friends, making the most of UCLA—I did that. I made it happen.

But if I'm going to claim those victories, I also need to own the failures. Noah and I didn't break up because of Dad's accident. We could have been braver, more patient, less stubborn, more trusting, less proud, more forgiving; a hundred ways we could have done better. But maybe also a hundred ways we could have made things even worse. And our current bliss isn't some karmic reward handed to us by the universe—we're here because we fought our way here, because we learned from our mistakes. Learned from our mistakes, but also forgave each other and ourselves for those mistakes.

So all of this—Noah, his arms wrapped around me; Julia, asleep in my arms; the rings on our fingers—we did this. We earned this. And next? Well, next we go home, and then we figure it out from there.

* * *

We end up being discharged on Tuesday morning, and by then I'm sick enough of the hospital that escaping its noises and disruptions and horrible food almost makes up for the terror of being truly on our own with Julia. You'd think the drive home from the hospital would be a lot more pleasant than the drive _to_ the hospital, what with not being in labor this time, but Julia spends the first half of the drive wailing angrily no matter what I try to calm her. She eventually settles down and falls asleep, but now instead of stressing out about the crying I'm worrying about whether we've got her seat installed right and whether her head is tipping too far forward. It doesn't help that traffic is terrible and I'm starving and everything hurts and I haven't slept more than a couple hours at a stretch since Saturday morning.

Noah refuses to let me carry anything when we finally get home, so after making a first trip up to the apartment with us he heads back to the car for the last of the bags, leaving me alone with Julia, still asleep in her car seat. I feel strangely disoriented. The apartment looks just the same, minus some tidying and a floral arrangement we probably have June to thank for, but I feel lost, somehow. I should probably be doing... something. Putting our things away. Or making myself lunch. Or responding to the million messages I've received since we announced Julia's arrival. Or calling the pediatrician to schedule Julia's first checkup. Or maybe I should be waking Julia to change her, or to feed her; I can't remember how long it's been. There's so much I _should_ be doing, but I can't figure out where to start.

So, instead of doing any of that, I just sit Julia's car seat on the coffee table and collapse on the couch across from her. The enormity of it all hits when I look at her. That she's this tiny helpless creature completely dependent on me for her survival. As if _I_ had any idea what the hell I'm doing. Suddenly I'm sobbing, my heart racing, utterly unable to catch my breath. I know some of this is postpartum hormones. I know some of this is exhaustion. But not all of it. Some of this is real fear and panic, and I can't tell myself my reaction is entirely unreasonable. This really _is_ huge. This really is overwhelming. This really is terrifying, and I just have to... get used to it. Keep on breathing and keep on going until all this becomes normal. Somehow. Because Julia can't wait for me to get my act together; she needs me _now_. And I know it'll happen, but I'm not quite there yet. Right now I'm on this couch, bawling my eyes out.

I hear the door open and the thud of Noah setting down our bags, and that's when I remember that I'm not alone in this. That Noah's probably just as freaked out as I am. It's a strangely comforting thought, realizing that. We're both terrified, but we can be terrified _together_. Of course, Noah has no idea these are the thoughts racing through my mind as I stare at him; he just sees my tears. Within seconds he's sitting down next to me, and I have to laugh at his alarmed expression. Except I'm also still crying, so the laugh comes out as a weird strangled sound that probably isn't at all reassuring.

"Elle?" Yeah, Noah's definitely concerned.

"I'm fine. I promise, I'm fine. It's just... all of it, you know? It's a lot. But now you're here. I think I forgot that for a second, that you're here too. And how glad I am that you're here."

I'm not sure how much sense I'm making as I babble all this while wrapping my arms around his neck and burying myself against his shoulder.

"Of course I'm here. I live here." Noah still sounds worried, but he's smiling and I can tell he's trying to lighten my mood.

"Yeah. You live here, and I live here." And now suddenly the situation is too hilarious for words and I'm cracking up laughing. These postpartum mood swings are no joke, but it really _is_ hilarious. Noah does live here. _We_ live here. Together. I moved in with Noah. That milestone alone should be huge, but it kind of gets lost in the background compared to this baby we had. This baby we had right after getting married all of three days ago. Another hugely massive development.

"Elle, is this another crazy mood swing?"

"Yeah. And also no. I mean, it's hilarious, right?"

"Us living here?" Noah sounds confused.

"We're living together. We got _married_. We had a _baby_." I giggle.

"Yeah, I kinda noticed." Now Noah sounds cautiously amused.

"For two years neither of us could manage to send a single stupid _message_. You hid out in San Francisco, and we both came up with a million excuses for ditching family events. And then in October I completely lost my shit at the idea you might _move_ because of me. And now..." I trail off, sitting up enough to gesture wildly between us and around us. "It's all ridiculous."

Noah's smiling at me now. "No," he finally says. "But it is pretty awesome."

He's wrong, because this is definitely hilarious _and_ ridiculous in addition to awesome, but I don't mind. I lean back again and just enjoy being here in Noah's arms. I still don't know exactly how we're going to manage all this, but I've got to trust we will.

"So, what now?" Noah eventually asks.

"Lunch. Or a shower. I'm dying for both but I can't decide which is more urgent." I'm still feeling weirdly giddy, but also too crushingly tired to make any decisions.

"Easy. You go take a shower, I'll make us lunch."

"But what about Julia?"

"What about her?"

"What if she wakes up?" I worry.

"Then I'll get her out of her seat and we'll hang out."

"But what if she's hungry?"

"Exactly how long were you planning to shower? We'll survive a little while without you. Seriously, Elle, go. I've got this."

* * *

The shower turns out to be the right plan, and I think my mind may have needed it as much as my body did. For the first few minutes I keep shutting the water off, convinced I hear Julia crying, but slowly I let the warm water and familiar surroundings relax me. The comforting smells of my favorite shampoo and the same soap Noah's used forever, the sight of my belovedly ratty robe hanging on the door and Noah's workout clothes still puddled on the floor from Friday morning, the countertop cluttered with a jumble of his stuff and mine. After three disorienting days at the hospital, it's a relief to settle back into the routines of normal life.

It's not that I've forgotten any of the overwhelming realities that had me panicking when we got home, but I've relaxed enough to breathe a little more freely, think a little more clearly. All of this is still a lot, but it's also... doable, especially when I force myself not to think too far ahead. I've had my shower. Next we'll have lunch. At some point Julia will wake up, and she'll need changing and feeding. We'll let the family know they're welcome to drop by, and we'll take Dad up on his offer to bring us dinner. If I get really ambitious, we'll go sit in the courtyard for a bit. Maybe we'll get lucky and Julia will take another nap, and we can briefly pass out too. All that seems like more than enough of an agenda for today.

There's no crying to be heard when I finish showering, and I make myself slow down and enjoy these extra few minutes to myself as I get dressed. I'm a lot calmer now, my heartrate back to normal, my mind no longer racing. I pull on my softest pair of maternity leggings and a loose tank top, compromising between the competing urges to wear only my baggiest, most comfortable clothes and my desire to feel like an actual human that might even leave the apartment at some point today.

I still haven't heard any cries, but when I walk back into the living room I realize it's not because Julia's stayed asleep all this time. Instead, I see bread and sandwich ingredients abandoned on the kitchen counter, the car seat empty, and Noah stretched out on the couch with Julia on his chest. For a second I think both of them are asleep, but then Noah opens his eyes and smiles at me.

"See? We survived."

His tone is teasing and I know he's referring to my anxiety about leaving Julia while I showered, but the relief behind my own answering smile runs far deeper.

Because that's when it finally all feels real. Right. Possible. This is home. A new home, one that isn't yet entirely familiar, but a home we've created, _are_ creating, will continue to create. Some parts of this life I've pictured forever, and some I never expected, but all of it feels right.

And I don't know exactly what the future holds; the only thing I know for sure is that change will come. There will be other homes, other jobs, other cities, maybe even other countries. Maybe there'll be other babies, or maybe it'll be the three of us. There will be new adventures, and new challenges, and we'll find a way to deal.

But right now we're here, in this new beginning to a story we've been writing all our lives, and right now that's all I need. So I ignore the half-made lunch and the bags to unpack and everything else, and instead I carve out space for myself on the couch, careful not to wake Julia as I reclaim my own spot against Noah's shoulder.

"Yeah, we did. We survived." I finally echo.

And in that moment, I know we can do this. Together.

* * *

 _ **A/N: epilogue coming... but holy wow, I can't believe this story is finally complete. If anyone out there is still reading this, thank you!**_


	62. Anniversary (Epilogue)

_**(Noah)**_

Julia darts away with a shrieking giggle, the sunglasses she's just stolen from me clutched in one fist. She's been walking for months now, but this week she figured out running and her unsteady toddle turned into devilish speed. I let her enjoy her victory for a second before I catch up and toss her over my shoulder, hauling her back to the bench. As much as I love the way she giggles when we horse around, I'd been hoping to keep her from making too much of a scene while we're here.

Back at the bench, Julia shoves the plastic cups we'd been playing with at me, and there's no mistaking her wordless command. My job is to stack the cups into a tower; her job is to knock that tower over and then glare until it's rebuilt—so she can knock it right back down, over and over. I'm sure I share the blame for Julia's stubbornness, but the imperious look her blue eyes flash when she makes her demands is entirely her mother's. Julia's tower once again rebuilt and ready to be destroyed, I turn to check on Elle. She's still sitting on the ground, still talking aloud and sometimes writing in her notebook, and I don't want to rush her.

Julia must have noticed my momentary distraction, because all of a sudden she's climbed up next to me and has both hands clenched in my hair, forcefully directing my attention back to her. This recent fondness for hair pulling is why Elle keeps threatening to chop her hair, but I like to remind her that Julia has no problem grabbing painfully tightly onto my own short hair. So, instead, every morning Elle braids her hair up out of reach, and every evening I look forward to releasing it once Julia is asleep. Well, _if_ she ever falls asleep. Right now is pretty good, but there were some terrible sleepless phases I'd rather not remember.

Actually, right now is good for a lot more reasons than just Julia's sleeping habits. I'm not going to jinx us and claim we've got this parenting thing down, but things are definitely easier than a year ago. For starters, we're not bickering all the time—last fall was probably the most Elle and I have ever argued. The thing is, we were rarely arguing _about_ anything—we were just perpetually exhausted and overwhelmed. But we found our rhythm, eventually, and last year was also the most we've ever laughed, and the happiest I can remember being. I mean, maybe I wasn't getting enough sleep, but I was waking up next to Elle every morning, and that makes up for just about anything. I had it right, that summer in Boston, about wanting to live with Elle after graduation. Sure, now that it's finally happened it turns out we've also got this third roommate who's a complete tyrant and really isn't doing her share of the chores, but she's also damn cute and literally claps with glee when I get home, so I'll forgive the chaos she causes.

Speaking of, the tiny tyrant has decided she wants to stack the cups herself now, so I can sit back and just watch her for a minute. I'd always imagined Julia as a miniature Elle, before she was born, but she really isn't. She does have Elle's blue eyes, but her hair is darker, straighter, and the older she gets the more her face becomes uniquely hers. Sometimes Mom claims she looks like me, while Mike is convinced Julia takes after his mom. But really, she's entirely her own.

Julia may not be Elle's physical clone, but she definitely inherited her chatterbox tendencies—she's babbling away as she builds her tower, a gleeful stream of nonsense syllables and giggles, although these days there are more and more recognizable words mixed into that nonsense. Elle remains offended that Julia said _dada_ first, but thankfully it was only a few days later that Julia figured out _mama_. Well, I may have helped speed that along by repeating _mama_ to her over and over, because I really needed Elle to stop glaring at me every time Julia said _dada_. Lee keeps trying to teach Julia _his_ name, but so far she's shown great loyalty to me by refusing. The best he got out of her on his last visit was a drawn out _eeeeeeee_ , and given that she also screeches that in response to anything mildly interesting, including the spatula she's obsessed with stealing from the kitchen, Uncle Lee hasn't won this battle yet.

I'm sure he'll be back soon to try again—he's been flying down to visit at least every couple months, and lately he's started lobbying Elle to consider Seattle for grad school. Elle's still leaning in favor of staying near LA, however, and I'm not sure yet what I'd rather. As appealing as moving somewhere new is, I'm aware how much harder the last year would have been alone in an unfamiliar city. I guess joining Lee in Seattle wouldn't be a bad compromise between family and adventure. But mostly I just want Elle to take advantage of whatever her best options turn out to be. And anyway, none of that needs figuring out yet.

I pull my phone out to check the time, then laugh when I see the background picture. It's set to cycle through my favorites, and Elle loves to add pictures when I'm not paying attention. Today's surprise features me holding Julia at arms' length while she tries to grab at me with frosting-covered hands. It's from her first birthday, and we hadn't thought through the consequences of giving Julia her own tiny cake; she didn't so much eat it as smash it and then stuff fistfuls in the vague direction of mouth. Elle decided my outfit was more washable than hers, and so I got the job of holding Julia while Elle wiped off the worst of the mess. But, of course, only after Elle took her sweet time recording the moment for posterity while I wrestled Julia.

As I return my phone to my pocket, it occurs to me that I could just have looked at my watch for the time. I'm still not used to having a watch on, but Elle surprised me with this one for our anniversary. Well, our wedding anniversary—we've celebrated a lot of anniversaries this past year, some more complicated than others.

This day last year was especially weird; of all our anniversaries, this one might be the most bittersweet. It's Elle's mom, of course, but now it's also us, and memories of a weekend both glorious and disastrous. We spent a lot of time talking about whether and how to mark the anniversary, last year, but in the end Julia settled the debate by getting sick. We didn't leave home at all that weekend, but for less fun reasons than the previous year. Then again, we also ended the weekend a lot better.

Our November anniversaries came next: the kissing booth, and that first visit to the Hollywood sign. Those are easy to celebrate; there's no bittersweetness, no mixed feelings. Elle decided we'd celebrate the first by finding another carnival, and there was never any doubt we'd hike out to the letters for the second, even if this time we visited in daylight and with a tiny chaperone. It seems impossible that it'll be eight years next month—those days feel incredibly distant but barely yesterday. So much has changed since, but not the look in Elle's eyes right before she kisses me.

Christmas and New Year's aren't really anniversaries of ours, but they _were_ milestones of the last year. It was Julia's first Christmas, of course, but also ours—I'd never spent Christmas itself with Elle before. I asked Elle if she wanted us to stay at her dad's for Christmas, to open presents there in the morning the way she always had, but Elle insisted we stay home and start our own traditions. We did see our families later that day, and Julia was suitably spoiled by her grandparents despite having no idea what was going on, but I'm glad we had the morning to ourselves first. It did feel strange to sit at dinner with the family and recall that a year ago I'd still been too hurt and too angry to show up. Weirder still to think that neither of us had any clue yet about Julia, stealthily preparing to rock our worlds. But I didn't dwell on that for long, because there were much better things to pay attention to. Like Julia, gleefully shredding gift wrap. Or Elle, winking when I read what she wrote in my card.

New Year's was fun of an entirely different kind. We were days away from our half-anniversary and having survived six months of this parenting adventure, and both seemed like reason to celebrate. Lee was still in town, Adam came to visit for the weekend, and after Mickey somehow snagged us all last-minute concert tickets, Mom agreed to babysit on New Year's Eve. It was our first night out with friends since Julia showed up and I hope it doesn't make me a terrible parent to admit we really, really enjoyed that night off. Of course, then we both fell asleep on the way to get drinks after the concert, and Lee made sure there was photographic evidence, shared widely, of how old and boring we'd become.

Adam visiting for New Year's meant he was around to hear us debate whether to take a vacation that winter. Elle was convinced there was no point with Julia so little, that there was no way we'd ever get to relax with a baby around, and so we decided to put it off. Except, later that day Adam pulled me aside to say that if _someone_ were ever to fly him somewhere sunny and warm, he would most definitely feel grateful enough to provide a little babysitting. And that's how I ended up surprising Elle with a trip to Hawaii for Valentine's Day. We spent the mornings on the beach with Julia, Adam whisked her off for the afternoons, and then he returned her before going out for the evening. Elle and I got to relax, _alone_ , for a few hours every day and Adam met a reportedly very charming bartender, so the trip was a success for everyone.

March was another bittersweet addition to our anniversaries. Elle seemed uncomfortable talking about it as the date neared, and I realized she saw that day mostly as a painful reminder of how long she'd kept the news from me. And yeah, it's hard to forget how brutal and confusing our accidental reunion felt in the moment—but it also changed everything for the better. It was the day we finally moved forward, the unexpected fresh start we made the most of. And, of course, it was the day I met Julia—I couldn't not celebrate that. Maybe it wasn't the kind of anniversary Hallmark makes cards for, but then again, so few of ours are.

That day in March also felt like a turning point of sorts. We were done with _this time last year..._ being full of bad memories; now we had things like telling our parents or crashing prom to look back on. Sure, we've also got some breakup anniversaries in the spring, but so many years have passed, so much has happened since, that those barely register. Besides, we didn't have much time to dwell on the past by then, with Julia suddenly mobile and intent on climbing, crawling, and exploring every inch of our apartment.

Actually, we were incredibly busy in general last spring, with Elle ramping up the hours she was working for her advisor and my office wanting me to travel occasionally. At first Elle tried to work only when I could be with Julia, except that meant both of us spending a lot of time alone with Julia and not nearly enough together. After a few weeks, Mom told us we were idiots and that hiring a babysitter would be a lot better for Julia than parents who rarely saw each other. That was far from the only time Mom, or Mike for that matter, saved our butts last year. When Elle was knocked flat by a virus the first time I was gone overnight for work. The times we showed up for lunch looking so sleep-deprived that our parents ordered us to go take a nap while they wrangled Julia. I'd have been more entertained by being told to take Elle to bed if we hadn't in fact been way too exhausted to take advantage of that time for anything more fun. Well, at least not _all_ of that time.

July was obviously the biggest of all the milestones. We did end up combining Julia's birthday party with our anniversary, and inviting everyone we would have wanted at the wedding if there'd been more time to plan, but neither of us wanted to repeat any kind of ceremony. Elle declared our actual wedding had been perfect and didn't need replacing, and I fully agreed. Except for the honeymoon, though, or lack thereof—that _did_ need upgrading, and this winter, after Christmas, we're finally going on that tropical vacation I'd promised Elle so long ago. _Alone_. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade Julia for anything, but I'm still rather looking forward to getting Elle to myself for a week.

I'm still lost in thought when Julia grows bored of the tower game and digs through the diaper bag to find her favorite book, crowing triumphantly as she thrusts it at me. We've both read this one to her a thousand times and I'd be looking for an excuse to _accidentally_ lose it if not for how thrilled Julia is every single time we read it. Elle is still talking aloud and writing in her notebook, and so I pull Julia onto my lap for reading number one thousand and one. At least now that I've memorized the story I can just watch Julia enjoy the book without needing to glance at the pages. Plus, there's not much better than the way she curls her entire small self against me and hangs on my every word as I read.

I check the time again once the story is over—I don't want to cut Elle's visit short, but Julia's going to get hungry soon and lose patience for playing quietly. Thankfully, Elle is standing now and looking like she's ready to leave, so I scoop up Julia and start making my way over. The breeze blows Elle's hair into her face, and I watch her tuck it behind her ear with an achingly familiar gesture. She's in a faded Country Day shirt today, and sometimes I swear it can't have been so many years already since we fell for each other. But it has, as Julia, squirming in my arms, eager to grab Elle as soon as we reach her, reminds me. A lot of years figuring out how to make this work, and even some time telling ourselves it couldn't, but always a simple question in the end. Did I, do I want to be with Elle? Yeah, more than anything.

* * *

 _ **(Elle)**_

"Remember all those times I begged for a dog and Dad never ever gave in? Well, one time seeing Julia play with our neighbor's puppy and all of a sudden Dad's at the shelter asking for their kid-friendliest dog. Oh, sure, he says it's so he'll have company when Brad goes to college, and that walking the dog makes him get exercise, but we all know the truth—Woof's there for Julia. Which is also why he's named Woof, and not whatever Dad had planned to call him. Not that I mind Julia having Dad wrapped so tightly around her finger, I just wish he'd admit it. You'd love seeing them, though. Dad's been taking Julia most Saturday mornings lately, and when we come retrieve her the two of them are usually asleep on the couch with the dog, all three exhausted from chasing each other around the playground.

"Speaking of the playground, I got mistaken for Julia's nanny _again_ this week. I was helping her build a mountain in the sandbox, and a guy walked up and promised to beat whatever salary I'm getting now if I'd nanny for his twins. At least he looked embarrassed once he realized Julia's mine, and tried to be all friendly, but who wants to hang out with a nanny poacher? He'd probably try to steal our actual babysitter. There's one other mom under twenty-five in the neighborhood playgroup, and she and I compare notes about the dumbest comments we've heard about our age.

"Although, maybe the people who assume I'm the nanny are less annoying than the ones who keep asking when we're having the next one. I adore Julia, but I'm in no rush. I love our family the way it is, and I'm not sure the small bit of sanity we've regained lately could survive another baby. Besides, we have time. I'm not saying we won't, just not yet. And definitely not because busybodies nagged us into it. I'd say we need to give Lee a chance to catch up and provide some cousins first, but _that_ might be too long to wait at the rate he's going.

"Speaking of, he flew down to visit last week. He had to miss Noah's birthday because of a work trip, so June delayed the family celebration until we could all be together. I still feel bad for how little I did last year, for Noah's twenty-fifth. I wanted to throw him a party, I really did, but we were still so deep into the sleepless newborn haze that it just didn't happen. We did manage to go out to dinner that night, just the two of us, for the first time since Julia was born, but that was it. This year's birthday was a little better—June kept Julia overnight so I could surprise Noah with football tickets. Maybe next year I'll finally manage a real party, even if Noah claims birthday parties have always been more my thing than his.

"Anyway, having Lee visit was great. He's got yet another new girlfriend, and maybe this one he'll actually let me meet the next time I'm in Seattle. It's weird, sometimes, listening to him recap his weekends, or seeing pictures of his latest adventures. He's found himself a great bunch of friends and I'm thrilled for him, but I'll admit I'm a little jealous when I hear about their roadtrips, or all the concerts he's been to. But I love my life, too, even if these days a big Friday night means we've got a babysitter lined up.

"Even Brad's got a wilder social life than mine these days, if you can believe it. He got invited to Homecoming by a junior, and then he couldn't understand why his friend Nina got mad when he asked her advice on what to wear. I was so tempted to sit him down and tell him he's an idiot if he still hasn't noticed Nina likes him, but Noah wouldn't let me meddle. Anyway, Nina got her revenge by getting her own hot date to Homecoming, and now it's all very dramatic and tense between them and yet Brad _still_ doesn't get why. I probably shouldn't tease him about all this as much as I do, but I just have such a hard time believing Brad's this old already. The worst part is, most of this stuff I only find out because he tells Noah. I can't blame Brad for wanting a guy to talk to, but Lee is still mad about Noah calling Brad the little brother he'd always wanted.

"I hope you like your birthday card. It didn't turn out the way it was supposed to, or at least not as cute as the pictures I saw online, but Julia did have a ball dipping her hands in all those colors of paint. And then wiping her paint-covered hands on her clothes, or using them to grab my hair—I think I finally got the last glob of blue paint washed out this morning. And those daisies are tradition now, of course. I specifically told Noah to ask for the florist's glitteriest ribbon, but it doesn't look like he took me seriously. Next year _he_ can stay home with Julia while I do the flower shopping. Well, if we're still living here, otherwise I'll have to ask Dad to deliver the flowers, like when I was in Boston.

"I don't know that I want to leave, though. Noah's been encouraging me to look at graduate programs beyond LA, and I know he doesn't want me to pass up opportunities, but I'm not sure staying here would actually be a sacrifice. Going off and discovering somewhere new _is_ tempting, or even going back to Boston, but... LA is home, and home's got a lot of appeal. Maybe I'll point out to Noah that June will kill us if we move Julia across the country, or that we'd miss all the free babysitting. Anyway, I don't need to decide anything yet. I'll apply to a few farther-flung options along with the LA schools, and then we'll figure it out in the spring.

"So, I guess that's all the news and Julia's probably getting hungry, so I should go rescue Noah before she goes crazy. I told Dad we'd swing by to pick up Woof before going to the Pier, and I'm hoping chasing him around the beach will tire her out enough to take a long nap this afternoon."

And even if Julia doesn't get a good nap—she's June's problem tonight. Noah and I are going out, even if he does claim this particular anniversary would be more appropriately celebrated by staying in and not leaving the apartment for days. Maybe when Julia is older and we can leave her for a long weekend... but dinner out, a night to ourselves, and getting to sleep in tomorrow are already a treat.

I cap my pen and tuck my notebook back into my bag, and I fuss with the flowers before getting up and wishing Mom a happy birthday one last time. I haven't been able to visit as often since Julia was born, but some dates just can't be missed.

Noah must have seen me stand and guessed I was ready to go, because I hear Julia's giggling get louder as he tosses her over his shoulder and walks over. He's been doing his best to keep her quiet since we got here, but Julia doesn't really have a setting between _asleep_ and _loud_ right now. Besides, Mom would want to hear her shrieks and giggles. Julia doesn't yet understand where we are, or why, but I tell her the stories all the time anyway. The stories about her other grandmother, and the stories about her parents and their winding path.

It's impossible not to think about that day two years ago, every time I visit Mom. Impossible not to remember my stomach dropping, my heart racing when I realized Noah was there, waiting for me. For a second I was so shocked I considered fleeing, pretending I hadn't seen him, driving away without saying a word. I never _could_ have, but just for one second—I thought maybe I _wanted_ to, rather than finally face the mess we'd made of things. Finally find out whether that tiny hopeful voice that asked for the third star had been right.

I listen to that voice a lot more, now. It's gotten louder and more confident, and it's gained new allies, a lot of other constant reminders of what really matters. Mickey once laughed and told me she knows when something's bothering me because I start twisting my wedding ring around, and that if I'm _really_ anxious I take it off and rub my thumb over and over the inscription inside. And she's right; in so many ways that ring is my touchstone now, a constant reminder of this life we've built. But it's far from the only one. There's Julia, obviously, but also silly things like coming home and seeing Noah's jacket thrown over a chair. Getting mail addressed to both of us. The fact that Noah _still_ hides my shampoo so I'll use his instead. The way Lee still makes a show of gagging any time he sees me rest my head against Noah's shoulder or hold his hand, just to tease me. The way Dad insists on telling Noah that I have a midnight curfew whenever he babysits for us, for old times' sake.

Noah's only a few yards away now, Julia's arms wrapped around his neck, and I don't think I'll ever get over seeing them together. He's so good with her, so much more patient with her toddler antics than I am, so much better at staying on top of the million things going on in our lives without stressing out. I told him long ago there was nothing he couldn't do, but I had no idea then how right I was. But he says the same about me, claims I'm better at this parenting thing than he is, and maybe the point is that we both make each other better.

Noah shifts Julia to one shoulder when he reaches me, his other arm wrapping around me, and for a minute I just lean into him, enjoying his warmth and letting the memories wash over me. It's a blissful moment, cut short by Julia realizing she's in perfect hair yanking range. One of these days I really _am_ going to chop it all off, no matter Noah's objections.

"Ready to go home?" Noah asks, laughing as he carefully pries Julia's fingers out of my hair.

But I already am, right here in his arms.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Almost exactly eighteen months after I stayed up all night writing the pool scene, this story is finally complete. Well... kind of. I do have a few ideas for extra chapters—extremely tiny sequels or prequels. If and when they get finished, I'll add them to this story. But for now... complete.**_


	63. Another Wedding (bonus chapter!)

_**A/N: the first of a few planned bonus chapters! This one takes place in the summer of 2029, eight years after Julia's birth. That doesn't mean I won't be writing about any events between the epilogue and now... just that I wrote this first :)**_

* * *

 **Summer 2029**

 _ **(Noah)**_

"WHERE ARE MY SHOES?" Elle comes flying into the kitchen looking frantic.

"You have dozens. You'll need to be more specific."

"The ones for the wedding! The stupid ones I had to get dyed to match the stupid dress!"

"Ah. Already packed those. Along with said stupid dress. Which I've told you looks great."

"No. It does not. There is no such thing as a _great_ maternity bridesmaid's dress, and especially not _this_ one. It is a ridiculous pastel tent and they are doing this to torture me."

"They're getting married... just to torture you?"

"No! I mean, yes, also that, but that's a separate issue. But there's no reason I need to be in a dress for this wedding. I would have been perfectly happy to stand on his side."

"Because a maternity tuxedo would have looked... less ridiculous?"

"Yes! It would have! I wear suits to work all the time. _This_ ," Elle gestures at her midsection, "looks fantastic in black pants and an open jacket. _Not_ in lilac taffeta."

"She's your best friend. Let her have the wedding she wants."

"So is he! So I could just... stand on his side. And not be in a lilac tent."

"You lost the best man gig fair and square, Shelly." Or at least, as fair as any game of strip poker ever is. But don't tell Lee, because he thinks we flipped a coin to decide.

"Liar. And even if you _had_ won, I could still have been a groomsman. Groomslady? Groomsmaid? Whatever wouldn't involve a poofy dress."

"But then I wouldn't get to accompany you down the aisle." I'm trying not to laugh, but it's getting really difficult.

"Sure you could. There's no law against the best man walking one of the groomsmen down the aisle. _Especially_ when they're married."

"Elle, for the last time, it's _their_ wedding. Just wear the silly dress and be happy for them."

Elle seats herself at the kitchen island before burying her head in her arms.

"I just can't believe they're getting married," she mumbles, her face still hidden. " _To each other._ Did you know Mickey's cousin is throwing a lingerie shower after the rehearsal dinner? I'm going to have to sit there—and I can't even drink—and try very hard to _not_ think about what's going to happen to those teddies. I mean, _gross_."

Okay, so Elle has a point there, but there's also not much we can do about it.

"Couldn't they have married literally anyone else?" Elle gripes, not for the first time.

"You should definitely call Lee and complain to him about the awkward position he's put you in, marrying your best friend. I'm sure he'll be _very_ sympathetic."

"Ugh, shut up. I get it. Karma's a bitch. I just wish it weren't a bitch in lilac taffeta."

So, yeah. Elle's still not quite reconciled to Lee marrying Mickey. It is taking all my self-restraint not to laugh at her ranting, but I know better than to let her see me smile when she's in one of these moods. _Especially_ when she's pregnant.

"So, now you know where your shoes are. Take a break, have a snack. I'll make you some decaf. And toast." This is my third tour of duty through the magical land of crazy pregnant Elle. I've learned survival techniques along the way. Frequent feeding and beveraging are essential.

"I don't want decaf. I want real, actual, coffee. An entire vat of it. Or maybe a margarita. Ugh—I can't believe you talked me into doing this again."

I stare pointedly back at her, my eyebrows high, but say nothing.

" _Fine_. I can't believe you didn't talk sense into me when I said we should do this again."

"Didn't want to."

"But now they're going to outnumber us. Three is _it_. We're done after this one."

"Sure."

"I'm serious, Noah."

"Sure." I lean against the counter, facing Elle as I slowly and _very_ seriously nod.

"Stop giving me that look. Stop pretending to agree just to humor me."

I pause for a beat, then smirk. "Sure."

"Stop it!" Elle laughs.

"Here's an idea. We're home alone for the first time in weeks. We could make the most of it instead of arguing about hypotheticals."

Elle returns my smile, but she looks like she's still mulling over my suggestion.

"Your mom is bringing Sammy back when she comes for dinner, right? And Julia's summer camp goes to 4?"

Elle and I both took the day off to get everything packed for Lee's wedding, and Mom agreed to watch Sam so we could get that packing done without an almost-two year old creating chaos.

"Yes."

"So, plenty of time for that snack and decaf you just promised me, and _then_ making the most of the empty house."

Yeah, that's her usual ranking of priorities these days. But I don't disagree, because a hungry Elle is a cranky Elle, and a cranky Elle means no chance of fun. Which is why I'd already started brewing the coffee and assembling the peanut butter and jelly while she ranted. Peanut butter and jelly on an English muffin, not sandwich bread. Toasted, but not _too_ toasted. With the crunchy peanut butter and the good jam that she hides from the kids. Like I said, this is our third. I know the drill. It would be a shame to waste all this hard-won expertise by making this our last, but that discussion can wait.

"Literally _anyone else_ in the world. Billions of people out there, but _this_ is who Lee picks."

Ah, Elle is back to that. It's been nearly two years, but she's still not over her best friends hooking up. Maybe we should have seen it coming, but we didn't. Obviously we knew they were friends, and had been ever since making sure Elle and I got our acts together way back when. For years, though, there was nothing more between them that we could see. Lee was living in Seattle and very committed to his plan not to settle down; none of the girlfriends that lasted long enough to meet us ever impressed Elle much. Mickey eventually broke up with that guy she'd been dating at UCLA, and for a few years we saw her only sporadically after she landed a spot in a musical's touring company. She and Elle were always on the phone, but I stayed out of whatever boyfriend dramas they were discussing.

It was two years ago that I got suspicious. Lee flew out to visit after Sam was born, but he insisted on staying with Mickey rather than with us. Something about not wanting to be in our way, but Mickey's apartment being closer to us than our parents' house. And then the same story the next few times he visited, all while Mickey started taking a lot of weekend trips that she stayed vague about. I didn't share my suspicions with Elle, although maybe I should have.

And then came Thanksgiving. We didn't think twice about Mickey being there, because Mom always invites her to family gatherings. After lunch, Elle and I decided to take advantage of Julia and Sam captivating their grandparents' attention to sneak upstairs for... a nap. Yeah, let's call it a nap. Except it seems Lee and Mickey had already had the same idea. And since Mom turned Lee's room into her workout room and mine into a playroom for the kids, that left just the one upstairs guest room with a bed. I think you see where this is heading?

While I regret to say that this was not the first time Elle and I walked in on Lee less clothed than we'd like, this was definitely the first time we walked in on him _and Mickey_. There was a lot of horrified screaming from both Elle and Lee, and there was a lot of hysterical laughing from Mickey and me. Okay, the laughter was also kind of horrified, but nowhere on the level of the drama Elle and Lee ended up making about all this.

* * *

 **November 2027** _ **(flashback)**_

"You don't understand. I _knew_ Mickey was dating someone new. I knew because she told me stories about her mystery boyfriend. _Stories_ , Noah _._ The kind of stories I absolutely never ever wanted to hear about Lee." Elle shudders as I drive us home. She hasn't stopped talking about Lee and Mickey's accidental bombshell since we left my parents' house.

"So is now not the time to tell you I was pretty sure Lee was seeing someone, for basically the same reason?"

Elle gives me a horrified stare. "Please tell me Lee didn't tell you stories."

"No," I laugh. "But you know that stupid goofy look he gets when he's getting laid. Had you not noticed?"

"I didn't think it was _Mickey_ causing it! And you know I try to _ignore_ Lee's getting-laid look, because _ew_."

Well, we're in agreement there.

Elle stares out her window for a minute, then turns back to me with a worried look. "Oh, god."

"Now what?"

"The stories. The getting-laid looks. Noah, this has been going on for a while. _Months_. Maybe even before Sammy was born."

"Yeah, probably."

"Mickey _never_ dates anyone for that long. Let alone Lee."

"So? You usually get mad when I pretend not to believe anyone could put up with Lee for long."

"But what if this is _serious_?"

"I hate to break this to you given that face you're making, but I kind of assumed it was, Shell."

" _What_?"

I'm trying my best not to laugh at her appalled expression.

"They've known each other how long, now—seven years? They'd know fast if this felt right. Not to mention both being close to you. Don't you think they've thought long and hard about whether this is real given how poorly a fling could end?"

"But then why didn't they tell me? Why hide this?"

I shoot Elle an incredulous look, but apparently her question was serious.

"You're going to make me say it?" I finally ask.

"Say _what_?"

"Elle, come on. Lee's doing exactly the same thing you did when _we_ started dating. Probably for the same reasons."

"I never forbade Lee to date Mickey!"

"Well, no, but... would you have wanted him to? Your reaction today, I'm pretty sure that's exactly why they hadn't said anything yet. Because they knew you'd be upset and they were still trying to figure out how to tell you."

Elle huffs in frustration. She knows I'm right, she just doesn't like it.

"So, now what?" Elle finally replies.

"Now you call Lee after we get home, you apologize for overreacting, you tell him you love them both, and you tell him you want them to be happy. And then you call Mickey, and you tell her the same thing."

Elle's scowl tells me she's not convinced yet. "How are _you_ so okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I mean, I'm a little worried about Mickey's sanity, and I kind of thought she had higher standards. But if she wants my dumbass baby brother, that's her problem, not mine."

"Are you ever going to stop calling him that?"

"Never." I grin.

Elle leans back in her seat, closing her eyes.

"I guess... it kind of makes sense. I mean, they're both awesome. And I love them, and I want them to be with awesome people. It's just... so weird to think about."

"Yeah, a little." It's really not that weird to me. Unexpected, but not weird. But I know it's different for Elle.

Elle is quiet another minute, then sighs.

"He's been really happy lately. And I don't just mean the goofy getting-laid look. He's sounded really, truly happier than I've heard him in a long time. And Mickey, too. So if that's because of... this... I guess I have to be happy about it. Even if it's so, so weird. And god, it's going to be awful if they break up."

"Maybe. Maybe not. And all that's up to them, not you."

"Can you stop being mature about this for ten seconds and just let me wallow?" Elle grumbles.

"Will the wallowing involve you punching either of them?"

"No."

"Are you going to torture them with a weeks-long guilt trip?"

"Not that, either."

"Then yes, you can wallow. Complain to me all you want, as long as you're nice to them."

"Can I tell Lee I'll kick his ass if he breaks her heart?"

"Yeah, that he's earned," I laugh. Lee still regularly reminds me he'll kill me if I screw this up. I don't expect he'll ever stop.

"Are you going to tell Mickey you'll kick _her_ ass if she breaks your baby brother's heart?"

Now I'm really laughing. "No, Mickey I trust. Lee's the only idiot in this situation, he's the one I'm going to threaten."

* * *

But we never did have to kick either of their asses. Turns out I was right when I said Lee and Mickey wouldn't have gotten involved without being serious about it. It also turns out they're not the idiots _we_ once were, because it took them a lot less time and a lot fewer breakups and reunions to decide to make this permanent. In Elle's and my defense, we did have more curveballs thrown at us, besides being teens, or barely more than, for most of those misadventures.

And Elle, well, she's gotten used to it— _mostly_. Sometimes she even admits there's not really anyone else in the world she'd consider good enough for her best friend than her other best friend. It's just getting ready for the wedding that has her freaking out, not to mention the pregnancy, even if I'm absolutely not allowed to imply she might be slightly more dramatic about everything right now.

At least we're nearly done with our share of the wedding preparations. Elle threw Mickey a bachelorette party that I've been told I'll never hear any of the stories from, I managed to keep Lee's friends from dragging him into anything regrettable at _his_ bachelor party, and this week we fielded at least a hundred calls from them and my mom for last-minute help. Now, all that's left for us is to show up and stand where we're told. Well, and manage flying across the country with two kids. And then keep those kids from making a scene at any of the wedding events—because if there's anything we can trust Julia and Sam on, it's that they always find a way to make things interesting.

So, yeah, we've probably got an incredibly unrelaxing weekend ahead of us, all courtesy of my dumbass baby brother and the woman he's somehow convinced to marry him. But given what we owe both of them, it's really the least we could do.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Yes, there will be more from Lee's wedding - probably one more chapter. And as I mentioned at the start, just because I'm publishing this first doesn't mean I won't be writing anything in between the epilogue and now. I just had this ready to go first :)**_

 _ **I actually wrote the opening scene while working on the very early chapters, because I needed to imagine Elle & Noah's happily-ever-after to get me through the sad parts. Then I had to do some rewrites because of how much the plot evolved between then and now... like deleting a reference to Lee and Mickey having been the only ones at Elle and Noah's secret wedding since, uh, that's not actually what I ended up writing.**_


End file.
